


Soulforged

by ss9



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Armand Jean du Plessis, F/M, twissy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ss9/pseuds/ss9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post The Husbands of River Song: </p><p>The Doctor has been running all his life, firstly out of fear and lately just trying to out run the bad memories. The Mistress newly escaped from the less than hospitable hands of the Dark Lord of Skaro is just looking for a place to recooperate before she embarks on a revenge plan the likes of which the universe has never seen and The Doctor can either tag along or get the hell out of her way.</p><p>Eventually all journeys inevitably lead you back to the beginning but what the hell does any of this have to do with one Armand Jean du Plessis?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

\---/---

Blood…there was something unique about the smell of it, especially when it was her own. Reaching down Missy could feel it trickling over her fingers, thicker than water, less glutinous than oil and yet it coated everything in an equally fine film. 

Pain like the smell of blood was something that The Mistress had come to know intimately yet this was a pain she had never felt before, not even in the throes of whatever torture Davros had devised for his latest amusement. No this pain had a purpose, even if felt like it was about to rip her in half.

Laying back in the mist dampened grass, Missy stared up into the overcast sky as she absorbed what little of the positive ions the Eye was giving out. It was out of season, not that a graveyard really had a season any more. Once upon a time, it had been impossible to come and visit the Eye of Orion without tripping over a tourist or a Timetraveller. Missy preferred it now, abandoned almost rejected by the rest of the universe, like a once popular resort now decidedly out of fashion.

Still, a Dalek experimentation lab disguised as refugee camp would put off all but the most serious explorers; some species were just so sensitive…

Speaking of sensitive…Even Missy had to grit her teeth to stop herself from screaming this time. 

Now she understood, curse of infertility aside, why her people had moved to loomed based procreation. No one would chose this if they had a choice, she certainly hadn’t. If she ever had the displeasure of seeing Davros again, Missy wouldn’t stop with poking the Dark Lord of Skaro in the eye. Picturing the agonies she would make him endure carried Missy through the next bought of pain.

Fists clenched in the damp grass, Missy cursed Davros, cursed The Doctor, cursed the little parasite that seemed to want to rip her apart on its way out. She may have known nothing of childbirth, but Missy knew a tonne about dying and this felt…there was too much blood…something was wrong. She could feel it prickling in her fingers, the little golden sparkles of regeneration…her last.

So often, whilst enjoying the hospitality of the Dalek’s, Missy had felt that shimmer under her skin yet she had fought it back, had forced her body to endure and heal the hard way. Then Davros had stumbled onto his brilliant idea, and had found another use for his captive other than mere amusement, and bait for The Doctor. The fruit of his brilliance squirmed inside Missy’s body, causing her to bite down on her lip, the taste of blood filling her mouth.

Part Time Lord…Part Dalek…The Ultimate weapon…

Missy had hated the parasite at first, hated the drugs and the prodding, the failures that she had been forced to endure, until finally this one took; this one foetus had survived, whilst the others had been rejected from her body for being too alien…too Dalek…

Crying out this time, as the pain ripped her in two, Missy slid bloodied fingers down, her fingers tracing something hard and wet and hairy…the parasite had hair…that surprised her.

All through her pregnancy, even when the first whispers of consciousness had reached out to her, an unformed mind innocent of the crimes of its progenitors. Missy had pictured it as wrinkled and bald and ugly, a monster foisted upon her. She had raised her mental shields, and kept her own mind hidden, from the tentative explorations of the being forming inside her. Yet even with her shields raised, she could still hear it, could feel it moving under her hearts, it was part of her, and even with her formidable abilities, The Mistress couldn’t make that go away.

So perhaps she didn’t hate it the way she used to. 

Even if it was ugly, it would still be part of her, the shining mental presence confirmed that much, it would be strong like its mother, and for some reason that filled Missy with a sense of something. Something more than simply the pleasure, of depriving Davros of his latest genetic weapon, no Missy had sworn she would kill it herself first.

Clenching her teeth, Missy pushed with muscles she didn’t even know this body had, and she felt the hard mass between her thighs shift slightly, another push, and there was a smooth expanse of what felt like a forehead.

Out out she wanted it out now…it burned and ripped at her insides…this was unnatural , how could any species choose to do this, it was unthinkable…yet The Doctor’s favourites seemed to procreate at whim, and if a pathetic human female could manage this…

Screaming out her frustration and fury The Mistress pushed, and pushed, her insides burning, then suddenly, what had seemed stuck only a moment before slid loose, and she caught it with her grasping hands…wet and slippery and silent…

It shouldn’t be silent. Missy knew that much about primitive childbirth, the child normally came out squawking.

With shaking hands Missy lifted her offspring into her lap, bright blue eyes widening in surprise, as a people looking child lay before her…dark curls smeared with blood lay across his forehead, a scrunched up face, that looked squashed, and yet no outward sign of the Dalek contamination could be seen…yet those ears…and that nose…oh she had seen those before, and not in a mirror, and Missy had a revelation, about how Davros had finally stabilised the genetic code to allow this foetus to survive, and to stop her body rejecting it, the introduction of a third parent.

This was her son, and The Doctors offspring, Davros was a mere genetic throwback, that could be ignored or suppressed. And he wasn’t breathing…

“No.”

The denial was ripped from her throat. Missy pressed her fingers against the child’s face, but no wisp of breath could be felt, and his lips were blue.

The tingle in her fingers was growing now, but all Missy could see was the lifeless creature in her lap, her child. She had been prepared to end its life herself, prepared herself to murder a monster, but this was no monster, this was her child, and she had killed it in the birthing of it. She hadn’t meant this, hadn’t meant to hate, or curse this child to death.

“Please…Please…just breathe.” Missy pleaded, her glowing fingers tightening around the tiny body, channelling the energy out of her own ailing body, and into the infant. 

It was a desperate attempt, the child was too young to regenerate, and it was her last in this cycle, yet this body was dying, and she had little choice but to try. The burn of the regeneration energy washed over her, and Missy threw back her head and screamed, her eyes rolling back in her head as it felt like the universe itself was ripping her apart.

\---/---


	2. Chapter 2

\---/---

Something was wrong.

Correction, something was “wronger” than usual. It was hardly a scientific way of phrasing things, but it wasn’t a scientific instrument that was warning him, but something deep in his gut, that had caused The Doctor to be unable to settle…or perhaps it was just his guilty conscience…if his conscience was located somewhere deep in his gut, and was responsible for making him feel decidedly queasy.

No, he didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. The Doctor forced those thoughts away, he ran from them, just like he ran from the painful memories of dropping River off after their stay on Darillium. She had clung to him, his brave wild girl, had kissed him and smiled, made some quip about their next adventure, even though both of them had known this was to be their last.

River was gone…Clara was lost and forgotten, and he was powerless to do anything about it, but The Doctor was certain, he was slowly starting to come to terms with that. An ache he didn’t understand, that he couldn’t sooth away, but it was starting to fade, and hours even days could pass, when the ability to forget was now a blessing.

Yet there were other memories, that were harder to just ignore, perhaps it was because this wasn’t something he was powerless to stop, he had chosen not to interfere…perhaps it was cowardice…it was definitely selfishness…after all she had come for him when he had called, and yet The Doctor had chosen not to come to her aid.

The first time Davros had sent him a communication The Doctor had been surprised. 

He and River had spent close to several months exploring Darillium’s cave system; his wife, still as much of a thrill seeker at two hundred as ever. They had returned to the Tardis, happy and tired, and very very dirty, and River had vanished into the depths of the Tardis craving a hot bath, and promising him bubbles. The Doctor, consumed with thoughts of his wife in a bubble bath, had merely paused at the centre console, to exchange a greeting or two with his Tardis. That was when he noticed his communication array had picked up a message, only it wasn’t one, there were several there, all queued up waiting for his attention.

Curious The Doctor had called up the first, surprised and dismayed when Davros’s visage had filled the screen, and not wanting to hear, or be drawn into any of the Dark Lord of Skaro’s schemes, The Doctor had deleted the message, before it could play. He had had enough of falling into those traps, he didn’t want to have to run off, and save the universe again, he had promised River twenty four years, and dammit just this once, he was not going to disappoint her.

The other messages he left, he didn’t even open them. Not then at any rate…

Years later, after he had dropped off River, and had moved the Tardis to drift in the time vortex whilst he grieved again, and drifted aimless, and raged at the universe for robbing him of everyone that he ever loved; then, he had wanted something to aim his rage at, and he had remembered the messages.

Oh god, now he wished he had deleted them all.

In the dead of night, when he tried to close his eyes, and chase down those illusive hours of sleep, The Doctor could hear her screaming…his name…

She had been screaming for him, to come and save her, over and over and over, all whilst Davros laughed, until her voice gave out. He had watched them all in the end, watched as his oldest friend was tortured in his place, as bait for him to spring whatever trap Davros had set for him. The last message had no sign of The Mistress, only Davros, congratulating The Doctor on finally getting over that crippling compassion of his, and that, as The Doctor had finally learnt to overcome this weakness ,he had no further need for the Time Lady as bait.

A closed loop, if he had acted when he had received the first messages, then perhaps there might have been a chance to change things. Some loophole he could exploit. He was good at those, or he had been once, but The Doctor was starting to realise, that there were some rules even he couldn’t get away with bending forever; Time always found a way to pay him back, in triplicate. Even the professional gambler lost eventually, oh he could keep riding his luck, but eventually, the house would always win. 

A sensible Time Lord would call it quits, would accept his losses and stay home, but The Doctor knew he was reckless, addicted to the adrenaline, and besides what did he have to go home for. A people who tortured him out of fear, or followed him out of misplaced hero worship, for acts he himself cowered in shame for. He was the last person anyone should call hero, the last person who should lead. He didn’t want the responsibility; he was a catalyst, not a caretaker. No, Gallifrey and he were far better apart.

Still, none of this eased the feeling in his gut, that screamed at him that something was wrong, something was coming.

Leaning back in his jumpseat, The Doctor did what he usually did, when he wasn’t sure what to do for the best, he trusted in his Tardis, over the years she had shown more sense than him.

“Ok, it’s over to you Sexy.” The Doctor muttered, switching the settings on the materialisation circuits to random, before pulling down the leve,r and feeling the Tardis shudder around him, as she shifted out of the Time Vortex and landed…somewhere…

Patting the console in thanks, The Doctor tugged on his red velvet jacket, and strode nervously towards the double doors. Pulling them open, he stood within the safety of the Tardis shields for a moment, before his nose twitched, and the familiar sensation of positive ions, and the smell of damp grass flooded his senses.

The Eye of Orion.

If anyone had ever doubted, that a Tardis wasn’t sentient or empathic, then surely this would convince them. Perhaps he was in a worse state than even The Doctor realised, if the old girl felt the need to bring him here. Still he shouldn’t overlook her hint, or this gift, an unhappy Tardis was not a comfortable place to live. Stepping outside, The Doctor moved onto the damp grass, ignoring the shiver that the now desolate landscape filled him with. Over the years, he had brought several companions here, and had promised the trip to many more. 

The Eye of Orion, once the vocation spot of choice, the positive ion bombardment during the season, and spectacular sky displays that followed, had once people flocking to this planet. Then came the time war, and the atrocities, and the people left, and buildings crumbled, but the natural beauty, and soothing nature of the planet remained, just waiting to be remembered.

It was out of season, the strong mist that coated the landscape in eerie white, would put off all but the most determined. It dampened the effects of the ions, but The Doctor could still feel them, slowly lightening his mood, increment by tiny increment. It was peaceful, and soothing, and just what he needed right now. And then, the peace was broken.

It sounded like a bird at first, only The Doctor knew there were no birds on The Eye of Orion, no animals of any kind in fact. Creeping through the mist, The Doctor suspected a trap, his earlier sense of wrongness returning, despite the atmospheric effects. Removing his sonic screwdriver, The Doctor set it to scan, the atmosphere on the planet would always distort the readings, but if he was close enough to hear it, then surely he must be close…there life signs.

Carefully stepping over crumbled stone, The Doctor made his way through the mist, his screwdriver held out in front of him like a compass, as it guided his way through the soup. Closer, and the noise stopped, before suddenly starting again, and this time it sounded less like a bird, and more like a…

He smelt them before he saw them. Blood had a distinctive tang, and The Doctor hurried, not caring as his feet snagged on the long grass, and threatened to trip them.

“Hello can you hear me I’m The Doctor.” The Doctor called out, yet there was no reply, save for the shrill wail that continued to stop and start.

Then, out of the mist, there was the outline of a shape…a foot…a leg…the distinctive flash of purple…and then a sense of another kind came crashing back in, leaving The Doctor reeling.

“Missy.” The name was torn from his throat, as The Doctor rushed to the still form of his best enemy, faltering only as he caught sight of the wailing naked child, that lay exposed on top of her stomach. 

A newborn…her newborn.

Surely that wasn’t possible, but the bloody scene that stained the scorched grass, and The Mistress’s clothing contradicted him, Missy had given birth, here, this was her child.

Startled out of his staring, as the baby stopped wailing, and actually seemed to whimper instead, The Doctor crouched down, and picked up the near frozen child. 

“Shush shush, it’ll be alright now, I’ve got you…I’ve got you.” The Doctor whispered to him gently, quickly unbuttoning his jacket, and then his black shirt, and tucking him inside, before buttoning the whole lot up around him.

Right, that was one safe.

With a shaking hand The Doctor reached out, and pressed his hand against The Mistress’s rib cage, barely smothering a whimper of relief, when he felt the steady thump of a double heartbeat.

Alive…she was alive…

\---/---

He looked just like his mother.

His mother, who was currently lying unconscious in the Tardis Medbay. Missy still hadn’t regained consciousness, since The Doctor had found her, but it wasn’t difficult to piece together, at least some of what had happened. The blood, too much for a normal birth, and the scorched grass, spoke of a regeneration. Yet despite her visible wounds being healed, The Doctor was confused by Missy’s face…it hadn’t changed.

Oh he might not have been the best with facial recognition, a Time lord recognised its own kind, primarily mentally, and it had always been a strain to hold onto a visual pattern, when your own people could change their whole bodies. When The Doctor thought of The Mistress, it was her mental pattern he recalled, brilliant and flashing, like quick silver, a laugh high and tinkling, and full of knowing mischief, the cool chill of brilliant, if a little twisted logic. Yet if he tried hard, The Doctor could remember the faces she had worn too, goatees, and a fondness for black, well until more recently at least. 

This latest face was angles, and all eyes…yes he could never forget those blue eyes, so piercing, so like her first. Well he couldn’t check on the vivid blueness of her eyes, but the angular face looked familiar, and if he wanted to see those piercing blue eyes, then he needed to look no further, than the child in his arms.

The child, that stared up him so innocently, as he suckled on the bottle, The Doctor had fixed him. The child, that despite his appearance, still caused The Doctor’s blood to run cold, as he realised just what it was that he held in his arms…The Hybrid.

For all these years, The Doctor had been convinced he was The Hybrid, and recent events had certainly seemed to lead to that conclusion. He had been forced back to Gallifrey, had stood in its ruins, and had made a choice…it was all hazy now, which meant Clara had been at the centre of it…a terrible choice, that had left him turning his back on his own people, and running once more. 

Yet could that have merely been a coincidence?

So many others had been convinced, that the Hybrid would be a Time Lord Dalek monster of some kind, and here in his arms he held such a child. The basic genetic scans his equipment could carry out, with just a blood sample, had picked up both Time Lord and Dalek genetic markers, so no matter how much like people this child looked, under his skin, he was something very different.

Anyone in their right mind would have removed this threat before it could mature, but The Doctor had been here before. He had been faced with the choice, of murdering a child to change the future, he couldn’t do it then, and he couldn’t do it now. Yet neither could the child stay here, Gallifrey knows, he had proven time and time again, just how ineffective a caretaker he could be, and if the child stayed with his mother…the idea of the hybrid, in the hands of either The Mistress or Davros, brought The Doctor out in goosebumps.

No he couldn’t stay here, and The Doctor couldn’t kill him, so that only left one option, to hide him somewhere else, in time and space, and let him live and die, ignorant of who and what he was, and there was only one way that was possible. His own pocket watch could be adapted for the task.

Holding the child close, The Doctor watched as his blue eyes drifted closed, long dark eye lashes against skin, still red and ruddy from birth.

“I’m sorry.” The Doctor whispered, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead, as he stepped out of the medbay, and into the main console room, not daring to stop and look back at Missy’s unconscious form. For the first time in his life, The Doctor really felt, he had earnt the title of thief.

\---/---


	3. Chapter 3

\---/---

Armand Paré had never considered himself a superstitious man. He had dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge, and the attempt to preserve life, and for the most part, he believed he had succeeded. Now in his advancing years, he had mostly given up the business of doctoring to the young and ambitious. Too many deaths had he seen over the years, so many of his own kinsmen, slaughtered first in war, and then in home-grown massacres, that had made no sense at the time, and continued to haunt him.

Seven years, and still the screams of his fellow Huguenots haunted him, only his reputation in the Parisian arrondissement, where he had lived since birth, and probably his name, which his younger brother had made far more famous, than Armand could ever dream, had kept him from having his own throat slit. His catholic neighbours had hid him, and Armand had hid, quivering in their cellar, as the streets of his beloved Paris, ran red, with the blood of so many innocent, sons and daughters of France.

He had withdrawn from the world somewhat, after the massacre, spurned by so many, who had once been his patients, Armand had withdrawn into his books, and had given up doctoring. Well he was approaching a great age, not many reached his years, not with the plague, or the sweating sickness, or war robbing the men of France of their lives.

Still there were one or two pleasures to be had, and one or two friends left in the world. A good book, and good glass of wine, what more could a man ask for, but love, but Armand was too old for love, his memories, of his beloved wife were more than enough to sustain him. It was, as he sat ensconced hidden in a corner of the library at the Collage of Navarre, that his belief in the world was shaken.

The noise, that unearthly noise, had half convinced Armand, that rather than falling asleep in his chair, he had in fact passed on to the next world entirely. Then just as quickly as it had been there, it was gone, and a nervous Armand had gotten unsteadily to his feet, approaching the corner of the library, from where the ungodly noise had originated. Yet when he turned the corner, there was nothing there…no there was something…a basket…a wicker basket, that some house cook or kitchen maid, might take to market, just sitting there on a table.

Intrigued Armand crept closer, straining his eyes as he came upon it, the contents made him want to step back in shock. A child…a sleeping child. The skin still red, and the face crushed from a recent birth, yet it had been dressed, and tucked into the basket so carefully.

“Well I…I never…” Armand flustered, as he stared down at the sleeping infant that someone had left abandoned, in a library of all places.

Careful not to disturb the child, Armand lifted up the covers, carefully just to check, a boy, a healthy boy, who would abandon such a thing? When so many families prayed for a healthy boy, and were denied such a thing…of course the child was probably a bastard, perhaps one of the kitchen maids here at the collage, had found herself in trouble, and had hidden her pregnancy. Yes that certainly made more sense, than a strange noise, and a baby appearing out of thin air. Now it was only to decide what to do with it.

The orphans home was the obvious choice, and yet Armand pitied the poor little child, doomed to such an upbringing, but it wasn’t as though he could care for him himself. A child this young needed a mother’s milk to survive, and besides, he was far too old to take on the care of an infant, but perhaps he could keep an eye on him…perhaps if he took an interest, then the orphan matron might pay him special care?

Yes yes that would do.

Decision made, Armand picked up the basket, it was manageable, and he only had a few streets to travel. The early autumn nights were still light, and he would be able to make the trip to the orphanage, and then back to his own house, before it became dark, and it became unsafe to walk Paris’s streets. 

Well, it should have been easy…

“Monsieur Paré….wait please Monsieur…” Stopping at the sound of his name being called, Armand squinted, as a little ragtag of a girl came running up to him, panting as she tried to catch her breath. “My Mistress, Madam Durand begs you to come.”

Frowning at the name of one of the local midwives, one who had not called on his services since the massacre, Armand was tempted, to tell the little chit just where her mistress could go, but then he remembered, that it would not be Madam Durand who would suffer for it, but whoever her poor birthing mother was.

“I will need my equipment.” Armand tutted, as he turned and followed the girl back along the street, and into a far grander set of houses, than he was usually permitted entrance these days. “You will go to my house, on the Rue de la Huchette, and tell my housekeeper I sent you, to bring my leather sack bag, she will know what to give you.”

“Yes Monsieur.” The girl nodded, as she pointed Monsieur Paré to one of the newer looking houses, with fancy looking shutters, painted a bright green colour.

Grumbling under his breath that he was too old for this, Armand made his way up to the front door, and knocked sharply, surprised when it was opened, not by a maid servant, but by a flustered, ruddy faced young man.

“Are you the Doctor?” He demanded testily, and Armand could barely nod, before the much younger man was taking his arm, and rushing a protesting Armand up the stairs. “It’s my wife, the baby…it wasn’t supposed to come yet…”

One look at the pained expression on the husbands face, told Armand more than enough, that this was a family, that had already seen its fair share of loss.

“I will do whatever I can for your wife and child Monsieur…?”

“du Plessis…” The younger man supplied, as he looked expectantly between the wizened old man and the door, behind which the pained cries of a mother labouring could be heard.

“I will attend your wife in a moment…” Armand paused, glancing down at his sleeping charge, and drawing the panicked Father to be’s attention, to the sleeping bundle in the basket for the first time. “Perhaps, I could leave him here with you?”

After leaving his temporary charge behind, Armand stepped into the bedroom, and closed the door quickly behind him, before moving shakily towards the bed, where a dark haired woman was crying out in pain. Attending to her was the shrew faced Madam Durand, who had not improved in either looks or disposition, in the seven years; since Armand had been called on to assist her with a difficult birth.

“Monsieur Paré.” Madam Durand greeted him curtly, her top lip curling slightly in distaste, as though he really was the last physician, she would have chosen.

Returning her greeting with an equally curt nod of his own, Armand turned his attention to the poor woman in the bed. 

“Madam du Plessis I presume?” Armand asked gently, as he reached out, and touched a hand to her burning forehead. Yet the poor woman seemed to pay little mind to his presence, she was caught up in pain and exhaustion.

“The baby is coming now, but it’s coming in breach position.” Madam Durand informed him, her clipped tone, more appropriate for discussing the weather, than a poor babe and its mother.

“How long has she been labouring?” Armand asked.

“Two days give or take.” Madam Durand replied.

“Have you tried to turn it?”

“Of course I have, but the babe is stubborn.” Madam Durand retorted, her tone dipping from curt to frosty. If she had had her choice, she would never have called for a doctor at all, men had no business in the birthing room ,and certainly this heretic, had no place tending to good catholic folk, but Monsieur du Plessis had insisted on a doctor being found.

Gritting his teeth, Armand swallowed down a retort, about who was stubborn as an ass in this room, and it wasn’t the babe. He had a patient to care for, and a child to help deliver, and that would go a lot easier with Madam Durand’s limited assistance, than without. Closing his eyes, Armand muttered a silent prayer, to his lord god, to watch over and care for this mother and child, to lend him the strength of hand, and the quickness of mind, to do what was best.

\---/---

It was a boy. Another boy, and yet unlike the child Armand had found, this one was smaller and so pale, he had taken a breath, but Armand had a sinking sensation deep in his stomach. The child was alive, the mother was alive and resting, she had passed out shortly after the delivery, barely hanging on to hear she had a son.

Wrapping the boy up in the blanket provided, Armand ignored the knowing tuts of Madam Durand. Yet as much as prayed, Armand could not deny that the midwife was probably right this time. It had taken so long for the babe to be freed from his mother, the cord had been wrapped around its little neck at some point during the delivery, and although he breathed now, those breaths were tiny, wispy little gasps.

Leaving the midwife to tend to the mother, Armand returned to hallway with the latest du Plessis child in his arms. Seated right across the hall, on a rickety wooden chair, was a dozing Monsieur du Plessis, who all but jumped out of his skin when he caught sight of the doctor.

“Monsieur Paré.” The younger man exclaimed, his eyes drawn to the silent bundle in the blankets. “Is it…”

“You have a son Monsieur.” Armand answered softly, watching as the younger man’s face lit up, before he caught sight of Armand’s sombre expression. 

“Is he…”

“He lives…”

“But?” Monsieur du Plessis prompted. “Is he healthy?”

“I am afraid not…I do not think the child will last the night, I am very sorry.” Armand replied softly, watching as the young man’s face fell, as he gazed down at the pale child wrapped in the blankets. 

“My wife?”

“Your wife, is a very brave woman Monsieur; I doubted fully grown warriors, could have fought harder. She was exhausted from the labour, and is resting now.”

“Does she know?” Monsieur du Plessis asked, his blue eyes drawn with the burden of knowledge, and pain.

“She only knows she birthed a son, she fainted before anything of the child’s health, could be told to her.” Armand replied gently, before offering the swaddled infant to his father.

So very gently Monsieur du Plessis held his newborn son, touching his fragile skin, with the tips of his calloused fingers. “It’s not fair.”

“No it isn’t.” Armand agreed.

“My wife, this will kill her.” Monsieur du Plessis continued, finally lifting his gaze from his barely breathing boy. “She lost the last two before their had begun to stir, kept going on about us being cursed, I told her not to fret ,we already had two healthy boys ,and beautiful little girl ,more than most people are blessed with.”

Nodding along, Armand could only agree, that was more than most, his own little darlings had slipped away long before their time, until eventually they had agreed not to try for anymore. It had broken their hearts, but Armand could understand a husband grief, and the feeling of powerlessness, in the face of such tragedy.

“I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen for months, she wouldn’t leave her room, or tend to the children, she barely seemed to hear when people would talk to her, would spend hours, just staring at nothing. It was only when she found out she was expecting again, that she seemed to come around, I thought moving the family to Paris, to take up my new position, would be a fresh start, and we could put it all behind us.”

“I have heard of such fits of melancholy.” Armand interjected, it was far more common than people would admit to, and Madam du Plessis was lucky to have a husband, who was so understanding, as many less fortunate women, would have found themselves locked away for much less. “She will overcome them sir, with you and your other children, you must have faith.”

“Faith?” Monsieur du Plessis scoffed, before staring down into his son’s pale face, his lips now an unhealthy tinge of blue to them. “I have sat here all night, praying to the Lord to save my wife, and my child, and look what his answer his. A boy that is dying and a wife that will go mad from the grief of it. I cannot bare it Monsieur, I cannot be the one, to go in there, and tell my wife, her only hope is gone. My son cannot die, but it seems that God, has chosen to close his ears to my prayers.”

On his death bed, Armand Paré would have still claimed the idea came not from him, but it was like the whisper of an angel in his ear, a family, who needed a son, and a boy who needed a family. 

“Perhaps not Monsieur.” Armand replied softly, as he stared down, and the sleeping child whose breaths grew slower, and fainter, with every second that passed. “Tell me, do you believe in miracles?”

\---/---

It was mid-morning when Susanne du Plessis finally awoke, much to her husband and family’s delight,t and relief. And other than feeling so tired that she wanted to sleep for a week, the only thing she wanted, was to hold her little boy in her arms. The child she had prayed for, had taken every care to keep safely inside her body, until it was safe, and yet still she felt she had failed, until her beloved Francois, had reassured her that their boy was fine.

Sat up on her pillows, and under the every watchful eye of the Doctor, Susanne had somewhat impatiently awaited meeting her son, and it wasn’t until Francois, laid him safely into her arms, and she could stare down into his little face, that she could actually believe he was real.

“Oh he’s beautiful.”

And he was, dark hair like her own, curled a little on his forehead, yet when he slowly opened sleepy eyes, Susanne could only gasp in delight, at the blueness of those eyes staring back at her.

“Oh Francois, he must have your eyes, how wonderful. I always hoped one of the children would.” She gushed, gently stroking her son’s ruddy cheek, and taking in every tiny detail, and so missing the way her husband shifted awkwardly, and shared a look with the Doctor that was too knowing.

“Well Madam, Monsieur, I will leave you now.”

Tearing her eyes away from her son for a moment, Susanne spared a glance for the exhausted old doctor, whose kind eyes, and attentive bedside manner, she remembered had helped her find strength, she didn’t know she possessed. “Thank you Monsieur…I’m sorry, I forgot to ask your name.”

“You were a little preoccupied at the time Madam.” Armand jested, pleased when the new mother returned his smile. “I am Monsieur Armand Paré, at your service. I will call again in a few days, just to check up on you both.”

“Thank you Monsieur…really thank you.” Susanne added, her brown eyes filling with happy tears, as she turned her attention back to her son, who stared up at her for a moment, before sleepily blinking his eyes.

Staring down into her son’s face, Susanne could feel the knot of worry, that she had been carrying for months now, slowly begin to unwind, he was here, he was perfect, she had been worrying for nothing. Francois had been right all along, not that she was going to tell him so, he’d be insufferable.

“My love…Don’t you think he looks like an Armand?” Susanne pondered lightly. “I know, we had discussed Jean for your grandfather…”

“I suppose he does.” Francois du Plessis replied agreeably, even as he stared down at the changeling child in his wife’s arms. This was not his son, his son was dead, and would be buried with no name, in an un-consecrated grave, and God have mercy on his soul for it, but for his wife, and for his other children’s wellbeing, Francois could accept, and love him as if he was, and yet it was perhaps a little easier, not to give the boy the name of his beloved grandfather.

“How about Armand Jean?”

“That sounds perfect my darling.” Francois replied ,pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead. “I suppose it is time to introduce the new arrival to the children?”

“Yes please do go fetch them.” Susanne insisted, yet for a moment before the madness descended, she savoured this first moment alone with her son. “Armand Jean du Plessis, I wonder what wonders, the world has in store for you?”

\---/---


	4. Chapter 4

\---/---

It didn’t hurt.

The Mistress couldn’t recall with ease, a time when pain hadn’t been the first sense, to penetrate the haze upon waking; it was wonderful, and suspicious at the same time. A deeper breath, in through her nose, confirmed her suspicion…oil…copper…the slightly stale tang, that coated the tongue, that came from recycled air.

So she was no longer on Skaro, but on a ship, or a space station…

Then she caught it, another far more familiar smel,l and suddenly the hum on the periphery of her confused mind made sense…red grass…star dust and the distinctive scent of time radiation, and it was getting stronger. He had come after all, despite everything, and although she would deny it to him, and even to herself, something tight inside The Mistress uncoiled the tiniest amount. He had come after all…

“I know you’re awake, there is no use pretending.” A familiar Scottish brogue caressed Missy’s ears, and it was everything the Time Lady could do, to stop herself from smiling, at the childish tinge of petulance she could hear in his voice. Oh her dear Doctor, he never changed.

“I am merely savouring not waking up in a cell, my dear Doctor.” Missy replied softly, her voice little more than a whisper, as despite the repaired damage to her vocal cords, they still felt weak, for some reason. The Gallifreyan words sounding strange, after so long speaking the guttural grunts, the rest of the universe insisted in conversing in.

“The day is young…you still have time.” The Doctor snorted, his tone caught between amusement, and something darker ,that seemed to cause his words, to catch on his tongue.

Intrigued as to what could cause The Doctor to sound… what was that word the puppy had used again, yes shame. Missy slowly opened her eyes, blinking as her bright blue gaze searched the room, before finally finding the Doctor, standing near the door half hidden by shadow. 

“Hiding dearest?”

“No.” The Doctor replied gruffly, before adding this time softer, and mumbled between the fingers he ran over his face, and up into his hair. “No…I’m just tired, and I don’t want to fight with you. Please Missy, just for once could we not…”

“Well that’s very selfish of you Doctor.” 

Pouting, Missy allowed her gaze to rake over his form, well what she could see of it, the space tramp look was a thing of the past, thank goodness, and the soft looking velvet evoked memories from the distant past…memories that were shoved aside, as recent events suddenly came flooding back, in such technicoloured force, that a genuine gasp actually escaped from Missy’s lips.

The pain…the wet grass under her fingertips…the smell, and feel of her own blood, and the child…her child…their child still, and unmoving in her hands…

“What is it…are you still hurt?” The Doctor demanded, pushing himself away from the wall, his cragged face finally coming into the light, the sharp angles of his face distorted, as those thunderous eyebrows of his drew down deeply into a frown that would have stopped enemies in their tracks.

Yet Missy’s concern was far away, and she turned her head, for the first time in centuries interested in something, that wasn’t the Doctor. Not a sign. Lowering her shields, Missy pushed past the throbbing in her head, and probed the surrounding area for some sign. He had to be here, after everything she had gone through, to try and save them both…

“Where is he?”

“Miss…”

Ignoring the way her name seemed to break in The Doctor’s mouth, Missy forced her stiff body off of the medbay bench, not surprised, when her unsteady feet gave way beneath her. Her body may have been healed, but she was still suffering from the effects of a..what…incomplete…aborted regeneration? She would have to find a mirror, and check, but she still felt like herself.

Fine her feet didn’t want to cooperate, but that was hardly going to stop The Mistress. She’d crawl, and drag her useless body behind her, if she had to…only the sudden strength of The Doctor’s arms stopped her, and despite herself, Missy leant back into his embrace, breathing in the stronger scent that clung to the soft velvet of his jacket. It made her feel weak, this sudden pull to turn, and press her heated cheek, into that soft fabric, and hear the steady thump thump of his double heartbeat under her ear, and The Mistress despised weakness, especially in herself.

“Let me go.”

Muttering something under his breath, that was no doubt less than flattering to her, Missy scowled as The Doctor complied with her command, by lifting her up, and dropping her back onto the medbay table.

“Happy your highness?” The Doctor growled at her. “You are too sick to leave, you stubborn creature, now you stay there, or Omega help me, I will find something to tie you to the damn table.”

Glaring back, Missy pushed aside the dizzy sensation caused by the sudden movement, her fingers gripping the edge of the padded bench so tightly, they turned white with the pressure, as she fought down the urge to vomit. “Where is he Doctor? Where is my son?”

“Missy I’m sorry, but he’s gone.” The Doctor finally found the courage to answer, mentally preparing himself for the explosion. Even weakened, The Mistress was capable of homicidal levels of violence, and he was right in the firing line, and besides he deserved it, whatever punishment she would inflict, The Doctor would take.

“Gone…?” Missy repeated the word in barely a whisper, her eyes falling closed, as she recalled the feeling of her blue dead child in her hands, of channelling her regeneration energy into his cooling body, and screaming out her rage at the universe.

It hadn’t worked…she didn’t know why she had assumed it would; it had been a risky, and totally experimental attempt on her own part, trying to use her regeneration energy on a child that young, and who might have already passed on beyond her helping. A desperate attempt to make up for her own failings…something a mere human could do, and yet she had failed… “So I did kill him after all.”

If Missy’s eyes had been open right at that moment, she would have seen The Doctor’s mouth fall open in surprise, those thunderous eyebrows of his shooting up, until they practically collided with his hairline. “Missy no…”

“I didn’t mean to, and I did try to save him.” Missy insisted cutting off her Doctor, before he could come out with his usual drivel about forgiveness, and compassion. 

Blinking her eyes open, they were devoid of tears, or any sign that the news had affected her, well to anyone who didn’t know her as well as The Doctor does, or did. Perhaps even he was fooled by the surface calm, yet there was a tremor to her voice, and a tightness to her posture, that screamed that any moment, that calm would be over.

“Missy I…you…” The Doctor began, his throat closing around the truth, he should tell her he had taken the child, and yet perhaps this was a kindness, perhaps the universe was giving them all a second chance, and he would be a fool to ignore it. “I don’t believe you w…”

“Oh I know you won’t believe me, I mean why would The Mistress care, what happened to the little parasite that was forced on her but I did try.” Missy replied tartly, looking up from her clenched hands, to stare up into her Doctor’s face, studying the conflicted expression on his face. “I should be blaming you; you left me in the hands of that monster in the first place.”

“That’s not what I meant.” The Doctor replied gently, his hands clenched into fists at his side, as Missy threw back Skaro in his face. 

He knew he was to blame, but it didn’t make it easier, hearing Missy talk about Skaro like he had only been the one to blame there. He hadn’t wanted her to come with him, and yes he knew it had been a trap, but he hadn’t known the Daleks had been able to bring that damn hell hole back. He would never have left if she hadn’t…she had done something to Clara, and he had been furious, The Doctor remembered that much, but much like the rest of his memories, where they involved his former companion, they were fuzzy, like he was viewing them through a telescope. 

Like they were someone else’s memories, and as such the emotional resonance had begun to fade, and along with it, his ability to hold on to righteous anger towards his oldest friend.

“You can pretend to be heartless all you want, but I remember.” The Doctor added, nodding towards the cameo that was still fastened at Missy’s throat, even if the remainder of her purple outfit was beyond saving.

Reaching up, Missy traced her fingers lightly over the cameo’s surface. It had been the first thing, taken from her during her imprisonment, and the only thing Missy had searched for during her escape. 

Indulging the part of herself that was craving comfort and connection, the evoked ghost of Koschei, that still survived despite her many attempts to destroy it, Missy ran her fingertips lightly across The Doctor’s cheeks. Missy marvelled, at the lines and curves of her friend’s latest face, the thrum of his thoughts, so close, and yet still hidden from her, before dropping her hand, and laying it gently on his chest, and feeling the thunder of his two hearts. 

“You loved your…”

“Don’t!” It was one word of warning, the only warning Missy would give him, and it was more than she would give anyone else.

The Doctor had always been a reckless fool, only a fool would recognise danger, and run towards it instead of away, perhaps he was simply wired wrong. “You have my sympathy...”

“Save your sympathy for yourself Doctor!” Missy spat back, using what little strength she possessed, to push him away roughly, swaying dangerously, as she teetered close to falling off of the bench entirely, the glare in her blue eyes enough to freeze The Doctor in place. “He was as much yours, as mine after all.”

Staggering back, as her words hit him far harder than her fists ever could ,The Doctor could only stare down in horror, as Missy’s face took on a look akin to mania, was she going to laugh, or cry he had no idea? Would she lash out, and beat him bloody, or fling herself into his arms, and scream out the rage, and pain, he could see itching to escape. “What?” 

“Where are your pretty words now Doctor?” Missy taunted him, her blue eyes glinting dangerously, as if daring him to approach her again. “No more petty condolences when it’s your child, I failed to save are there?”

Gritting his teeth, The Doctor had to force down the urge to vomit…their child…it shouldn’t have made a difference, the facts of the situation hadn’t changed, neither of them were fit to raise a child, and the danger he would be in, if Davros ever got his hands on him, were still very real and yet. Before it had always been another, who he could blame for taking his children from him, the Daleks, the soldiers, it had made it easier, and not simply down to his own failure as a father. There was no such consolation this time.

“Mistress got your tongue my dear Doctor?” Missy’s taunts were becoming childish now, it was a sign of how close she was too losing control, and The Doctor couldn’t…he couldn’t stay here, and watch this, his resolve wasn’t strong enough.

Missy watched as The Doctor backed away from her, his long limbs shaking with the effort of keeping him upright. He made the doorway, his long face ashen as he grappled with the doorframe, stepping out into the corridor, and pressing down on the door control, and shutting it quickly.

Staring at the closed door Missy, could feel the rage peaking inside her, rage, and hurt, and disappointment, as the father of her child ran from her, and the truth. Curling her lip in disgust, she ignored the straining of her vocal chords, as she screamed out after him. “Coward.”

Slumped against the opposite wall, The Doctor heard her accusation, even if he had managed to make it back to the console room, he imagined the Tardis would have transmitted the message regardless. It was screamed, both vocally and telepathically. His head in his hands, he heard the sound of crashing and smashing from within the room, yet he left Missy to her destruction, she had to grieve in her own way, and he…he had to try, and find some way to live with the knowledge, of what he had done.

\---/---


	5. Chapter 5

\---/---

It was not the first time The Doctor had been called a coward. 

He had heard that accusation, repeatedly at the beginning of the time war, when he had refused calls of the council to return home, and fight. His fellow Time Lords, had ignored The Doctor pleas, that far from running from danger, he was right there doing his bit, to try and help those other species, who had been dragged into the conflict. Eventually even the original renegade had conformed, when the conflict had spread across the known galaxy, there was no way not to become involved; the conscientious objector had died, and in his place, the warrior Doctor had been born.

Still this was probably the first time the accusation had substance, and it stung.

The Doctor still believed he had done what was best for the child, and the universe, the Time Lords he and Missy had become, were unfit to raise anything, let alone their own child. He would grow up being constantly thrown into danger, or being used as a pawn in his parents ongoing…war?…contest? The Doctor suddenly had a flash of amused laughter in his head, and the certain knowledge, that whoever Clara had been, she might have said something like a couples quarrel. Yet in reality, he and The Mistress hadn’t been one for…well, they had never acknowledged, or gone public with it. 

Looking back now, The Doctors memory was still hazy, as it had seemed they danced around the line, of best friends, to lovers, and back again. Now they were dancing over the line, of friends, and enemies, just as confusingly. Missy treated him like her enemy, he reached out for her friendship, she offered him hers, and The Doctor sought her destruction.

Curling his hands into fists, The Doctor pressed them into his forehead, as he stared down at the console. Anything to keep his hands, from doing what they wanted to, which contrary to what his head knew was right, was to press down the dematerialisation lever, and take them back, to wherever The Tardis had chosen to leave... 

Their son…The Doctor still couldn’t wrap his head, around the concept of them having a child, but Missy had been adamant about it, and the child had looked Gallifreyan, and not Dalek, and so the genetic balance, was definitely biased in that direction. He just had so many questions, and only Missy, or Davros, held the answers, and as stupid as it would be, The Doctor almost believed, it would be easier to ask the Dark Lord of Skaro, than return to the medbay.

Coward…

Great, now he was even insulting himself.

No, he had done the right thing; his mistake had been lying to Missy, about what he had done. He had taken the easy path, rather than face the consequences, of what he had chosen to do. Yet he couldn’t keep, letting her believe she had failed, that was a cruelty, and not a kindness. He had to tell her the truth that the child had lived. Oh she was going to be furious at him The Doctor knew that, and he wasn’t sure if their tenuous new baseline of friends, and enemies, could actually survive this new betrayal, and perhaps, that was what, was really holding him back.

This might be the final straw. Missy might finally give up on him, let go of the remaining goodness, that lingered inside her somewhere, and fully embrace the madness, and The Doctor knew now, that he would never ever be ready for that. Despite everything she had done to him, and to his friends, and to the universe, The Doctor would always be there, to give her another chance…only after this, The Mistress might not be so willing, to return the favour.

A Mistress hell bent on destruction, and not merely chaos, was a thing to fear, and it would be his fault. The universe would suffer, because of him, unless…

Closing his eyes, The Doctor unclenched his fists, and allowed his hands to return to the console, his fingers inching over to the dematerialisation lever, but then at the last minute, he punched a different command into the console, and watched numb, as the coordinate history of The Tardis was purged. The record of where he had left the boy destroyed, so that even if Missy raged, and half ripped the Tardis apart, she would never be able to find him.

Gone…his son was truly gone now, beyond either of their reach. Instead of feeling relieved, The Doctor felt physically sick, feeling none of the relief that having stuck to his decision, should have brought him.

Pushing himself up away from the console, The Doctor grasped for the metal railing, holding himself still for a moment, whilst he gathered his courage. Now he had to tell Missy what he had done, and hope that he, their friendship, and the universe, somehow managed to survive the ensuing explosion. 

\---/---

He didn’t want to leave.

Shuffling further under the table, Armand pressed his back against the wall, his long fingered hands reaching up to cover his mouth, lest his rapid breathing gave him away. He may have only been a little over five name days, but Armand du Plessis, youngest son of the recently deceased Francois du Plessis Grand Provost, was far smarter than his years would suggest. He noticed things.

He noticed, when first, the silver disappeared from the grand salon, to be replaced by rough pewter wear. He noticed, when several of the finer tapestries, were taken down, and nothing new put back in their place. He noticed, when instead of the several man servants, who normally tended his father’s halls, suddenly disappeared again, not to be replaced with new servants. 

If his older siblings noticed anything, they hadn’t mentioned it, not even in the nursery, but it was hard not to question, when Francoise’s ripped dress, which would normally be replaced, was instead repaired, and garments that had once either Henri’s or Alphonse’s, suddenly began to appear in his wardrobe instead. Yet Armand had learned, that if he wanted answers to his questions, then it was often better, to remain silent, and listen for them, rather than ask directly.

Hiding under tables, or reading on windowsills behind curtains, normally gained him the most information, that was how he had learned where the silver had gone, and why they only ate meat, now at dinner. It still didn’t make complete sense to him yet, but Armand had worked out, that his father dying, had been bad in more ways, than it had made his mother, and elder siblings sad. Armand had been sad for them, rather than sad in the way a son should be, his father was a soldier, and had died in battle, it had seemed for most of Armand’s life, he had been away fighting one battle after another.

When his father had been at home, Armand could not recall the man being particularly affectionate towards him. Yet he supposed that was to be expected, as he wasn’t the heir like Henri, or even the spare like Alphonse, nor was he his little darling namesake Francoise, who at nine had her father wrapped tightly around her little finger. Still Armand didn’t really crave his father’s attentions, his mother adored all her children, and Armand knew he was his little sister’s favourite sibling, a feeling he returned, as Nicole was the only one of his siblings, who seemed to enjoy his quiet personality.

“Where is that damned child this time?”

Curling up tightly, Armand knew who that was just by the sharp tone of voice. Madam Robert the housekeeper and he knew he was the damned child in question. Their housekeeper, was unfortunately not one the staff, who had been let go, and Armand watched as she paced about the room, the new girl, who was supposed to be watching the children today, flitting after.

“I promise, I only took my eyes off him for a second Madam.” The girl was pleading.

“Oh I believe you.” Madam Robert replied. “Damned unnatural child.” She added lowly, but even whispered tones Armand could hear, and his previous dislike of the housekeeper multiplied. 

“Oh I know I shouldn’t speak ill of…” Madam Robert paused, as if to check there was none of the family to overhear them. “But I swear, there is something wrong with that child, it’s unnatural a boy of his age, to be so still, and all that reading…not to mention those eyes of his…”

Biting down on his bottom lip, Armand refused to allow her cruel words to affect him, she was only a servant, her opinion didn’t matter, and yet it was not the first time, he had heard such words muttered about him. Was it his fault he had been able to learn to read so easily, that words seemed to just make sense, and he was able to pick up, and use them with ease. So what if he didn’t want to run around, and play with his brothers, he had always been far slighter than them, and he just didn’t see the attraction of rough housing.

And then there were his eyes, so blue, when always his siblings took after their Mama, with dark eyes. His mother had always cooed, he was her special blue eyed boy, the only one with his father’s eyes, and yet Armand knew his own were far bluer, than his father’s had ever been. 

“We were supposed be on the road before seven, and The Mistress will be demanding to know why we are delayed.” Madam Robert carried on. “And I will certainly not be taking the blame for your incompetence…oh for goodness sake girl, straighten yourself out, do not make me regret taking you on.”

“No Madam.” The nursemaid muttered, tucking her brown hair back under her linen cap.

“Well I will give you until the next bell to find Monsieur Armand, and return him to the nursery, otherwise I will dismiss you.”

“Please Madam I ne…”

“No excuses girl.” Madam Robert replied in clipped tones, before turning and striding out of the salon. 

Curled up under the table, Armand heard the tell-tale sniffle, and curious he crept closer to the edge of his hiding place, watching as the new maid scrubbed at her pale cheeks with the balls of her hands, as if to force the tears away, and yet they seemed to keep coming. She looked thin, and tired, and Armand could sympathise with that, being small and slender himself. It was hard to guess how old she was, everyone bigger in the nursery seemed like an adult, but she wasn’t very big, and with her tears, Armand would have guessed she was little older than his big brother Henri, who at eleven seemed ancient.

Creeping out of his hiding place, Armand couldn’t stand to see her cry, and certainly not because of him, he had run away, because he didn’t want to have to leave his home behind, and yet this maid was having to do the same, and she didn’t even get to take her siblings, and mama with her. Reaching into his pocket, Armand retrieved a mostly clean handkerchief from his pocket. His sister, Francoise, had embroidered his initials in the corner, during her lessons with their former nanny, and it was a gift he actually treasured.

“Here.” He offered the new maid his handkerchief, watching closely as she jumped at suddenly realising she wasn’t alone. For a moment she hesitated, clearly reluctant at accepting something, from one of the young masters of the house. 

“Go on.” Armand prompted her, and slowly the girl took his handkerchief, and used it to clean her face. “I’m sorry if I got you into trouble.”

“That’s alright.” The maid muttered, blowing her nose on the handkerchief, before glancing down at the fine silk in embarrassment as she offered it back. “I’m sorry…”

“That’s alright.” Armand replied, accepting back the slightly damp cloth, and pushing it back into his pocket, after all it wasn’t like he would have to wash it. “I suppose we’d better go back upstairs then?”

“Please…Please young Master, I don’t want to lose my position, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” The maid replied, her large brown eyes pleading with him to cooperate, and Armand didn’t have it in him, to be the cause of any more of her tears, and so he accepted the hand she offered to him. 

It wasn’t like he could have hidden forever, someone would have found him eventually; he would have been carried out of his house, and put in the carriage. This was a battle he couldn’t win, not yet at any rate, but one day he would return to Paris, to his home, and then no one would be able to force him to leave.

“It will be alright, I know it must be scary leaving your home.” The tiny maid whispered softly, as if somehow sensing his reluctance. “But I did, and it worked out for me.”

Nodding, Armand gripped her hand a little tighter. Forcing on a smile, as he remembered one of the few pieces of advice his father had ever given him, well him, and his two brothers, always be strong for the ladies, especially when you aren’t feeling particularly brave yourself. “Well then we’d better hurry.”

“Right you are young Master.” The maid bobbed a quick curtsey.

“My name is Armand.” 

The look of surprise on her face, and then the genuine smile that followed, warmed Armand through, and suddenly the prospect of leaving didn’t seem so terrible. At least he wouldn’t be going alone. “What’s your name?”

Startled by the question, the maid paused glancing around as if to check first if anyone was listening, before looking down into those innocent bright blue eyes. “Clara…my name is Clara.”

\---/---


	6. Chapter 6

\---/---

The medbay had been decimated.

The Doctor had been expecting some damage, but considering The Mistress had been barely able to stand when he had left her, The Doctor was amazed by the sheer scale of the destruction before him. Well one thing was certain, before The Doctor let Missy leave the Tardis, he would insist that she use that brilliant mind of hers, to fix the equipment she had damaged…well if she left him capable of insisting anything, and then again she might just deliberately sabotage the repairs, so no, perhaps that wasn’t the best idea. 

Shivering at the thought of once more dying at his oldest friends hand, The Doctor stepped inside the room carefully, broken glass crunching under the sole of his sturdy leather boots.

“Missy?” The Doctor called out for her carefully, clearing his throat nervously, when there was no immediate answer.

The idea of The Mistress lying in wait somewhere amongst all this rubble, hiding for whatever purpose, made him uneasy. There was plenty in here that she could have fashioned into a weapon, or even drugs that in the right hands, and combination, would easily incapacitate a Time Lord. Now he was really nervous, and The Doctor forced himself, not to consciously think of it.

“Stop hiding Mistress.” The Doctor conceded to use her formal name, and forced a measure of command into his voice. 

It normally worked on his human companions, although he was under no illusions that it would do more than goad Missy into retaliating, the need for control was one of her base characteristics. It was one of the things they did have in common, but whilst The Doctor tried to control situations, to try, and ensure the best possible outcome for all involved, The Mistress sought control for its own sake. She had ever had since she was…

The Doctor wasn’t sure, what had truly been the deciding factor, that had set her on this course; her exposure to the Untempered Schism, or her experiences of being powerless, in the face of Torvic’s bullying.

The silence was mocking, and resisting the urge to mutter unfavourable names under his breath, The Doctor reached into his pocket for his sonic screwdriver. Fine if she was going to act like a child, playing hide and seek, then The Doctor would have to be the adult here. Flicking the screwdriver on to the right setting, The Doctor slowly scanned the room, any moment now he either expected his screwdriver to start bleeping, or for Missy to suddenly launch herself at him.

Nothing…the room was free of any life sign, save his own, which either meant Missy was…

No she wasn’t dead, regeneration sickness wasn’t fatal, The Doctor was sure of that, well 90%, fine he was at least 75% sure of that. So that only left one other sensible possibility, The Mistress had escaped the medbay, and was currently loose somewhere on his Tardis. And if she somehow made it to the central console…well the repercussions didn’t bear thinking about, for either himself, or the universe.

\---/---

Cold and hot.

It shouldn’t be possible to be both at once, but then The Mistress had always been one to spit in the face of convention. Her head felt like it was filled with burning lead, and was far too heavy to hold up, so Missy was grateful for the solid wall behind her. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face back into the cold spray, relishing the soothing chill of the water, as it rolled down her overheated flesh.

Regeneration sickness, by Rassilion, it was embarrassing, only children, and idiots like The Doctor, suffered from regeneration sickness. Anyone, who had any control over their regenerations, soon learned to manage the energy output, to avoid having to deal with the side effects of regeneration. At first she had wanted to deny it even to herself. After all The Doctor had just abandoned her in his medbay, like some unwanted stray, her child was dead, due to her own failure, and she was not going to compound that, by being all pathetic and sick as well.

Besides Thete would never let her live it down.

The medbay… a half smirk pulled at Missy’s lips, as she recalled the fury she had vented on The Doctor’s precious Tardis. Oh he was bound to be so angry with her, and that was the only thing bearable in this confounded mess. At least that would get a reaction out of him. The Doctor angry was a wonder to behold, the very air around him seemed to vibrate with energy. He came alive and stopped worrying about his precious pets; his attention was solely focused on the cause of his fury.

Still, there was little point in trashing the place if Missy wasn’t around to enjoy it, and so after her bought of destruction, she had tried to find the central console room in order to gloat, but it seemed the dratted ship of his had found its own measure of revenge, leading her in never ending circles. She had found mostly closed doors, a swimming pool devoid of water; one deck that smelled so pungent, she had been forced to turn back, and a kitchen that had seemingly been abandoned, for centuries, judging by the evolutionary progress of the mould in the abandoned tea cups. 

Eventually exhausted, and for some reason unbearably hot, Missy had forced her way into the nearest room that would open, practically tripping over the clutters of junk that seemingly had been abandoned over the floor. Some of it piqued her interest, but her body was in charge right now, and it needed to cool down…Right now… 

Her ruined outfit, she abandoned across the room, as she stepped out of it. Her legs barely sustaining her weight, as she all but crawled into the shower cubicle, and turned the flow of water on to cold. So what if it soaked through the boots , and corset ,she hadn’t managed to cast aside, even with the stays loosened for her pregnancy, it was still more than her shaking hands could currently manage.

The cool water helped her overheating brain to think, slightly more clearly, and Missy tried to regulate the chemicals in her blood stream, that were causing her body to react like it was under attack, but her hormones were still out of balance, and not helping the situation. When she was back to herself, she was going to make Davros’s remaining life hell for what he had put her through. The torture was one thing, it was hardly the first time she had endured that, and despite his title, the Dark Lord of Skaro could learn something in the torture stakes from Rassilion, and his loyal minions. Yet violating her body by implanting that…that…

She wanted to hate it still, it was easier to hate, yet Missy couldn’t keep thinking of it…of him as a parasite. Her son had somehow managed to worm his way past her defences, and although she might not have been able to save him, Missy could avenge him. Oh Davros would not know what hell he had brought down upon his own head, she was going to make The Doctor’s actions, the time he destroyed Skaro, look like a mere fit of pique. She just had to think of something…

Bur first she needed to pull herself together.

Missy knew she should move. Sitting under a spray of freezing cold water, was only alleviating this latest symptom. Yet it was hard to find the energy to do so, she had vented what little she had destroying The Doctor’s medbay, and then in her futile search of the Tardis. Still it was nice to finally get something close to clean, Missy hadn’t realised just how much dust, and dirt, she had carted with her from Skaro, until the brown slick joined the coppery colour of her blood, as it circled down the drain.

She could just rest for a little while longer… just until she found the energy to stand again, then she could resume her search for the console room…just a little while longer…

\---/---

She wasn’t in the console room, nor had the Tardis moved. Still The Doctor took a moment, to lock the controls, just in case. The Mistress would be able to work around his security, she was brilliant, but even brilliance took time, and The Doctor only needed a few minutes delay, to stop her from running off with his Tardis.

“Where is she Sexy?” The Doctor muttered under his breath, as he used The Tardis’s controls to scan for any sign of The Mistress, locking down sensitive areas as he worked.

There were certain parts of the ship The Doctor already had locked down, his old companions’ rooms for one. The Doctor could never bring himself, to ask the Tardis to delete their rooms, but nor did he want to accidentally stumble across them, or for a new companion to do so; it tended to lead to awkward questions, The Doctor would rather avoid answering. In addition he began to systemically hide whole swathes of the Tardis, the laboratories, storage rooms, the library, slowly reducing the internal space down, as the Tardis switched, and knitted together the new layout.

He was trying to hide his own room, when the Tardis let out a little bleep in warning, it seemed that room was occupied, and any dimensional shifting was not advised.

“How the hell did she get into my room?” The Doctor spluttered in annoyance, his eyebrows furrowed as he glared down at the silent console, and the tellingly quiet Tardis, who didn’t so much as hum in response to his question.

That should have been impossible, The Doctor may not have his room hidden, and locked, like his former companions, but he had certain failsafe’s in place, which should have meant anyone trying to find it, were led in in circles. The only way Missy should have been able to find it, was if the Tardis herself led her to it, and let her in.

“We’ll be having words about this later.” The Doctor huffed, as he glared down at the unmoving dot, on the screen in front of him.

The Doctor took the short cut to his room, his long steps hurried, as the last thing he needed was for Missy to get into her head to move again. He didn’t need to open the door, as it had been left ajar, and cautiously The Doctor stepped inside, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, as he caught sight of a flash of crumpled purple, in amongst his own clutter.

“Missy?” He stepped inside slowly, as if expecting her to jump out from behind the door, and attack him. It was almost anticlimactic, when his arrival remained unpunctuated.

The sound of water running soon snapped him out of that, and The Doctor carefully traversed the piles of clutter on the floor, blue grey eyes taking in the assorted items of clothing, that were certainly not his, that had been discarded carelessly. That was not like The Mistress, and that worried him more than the destruction of the medbay.

“Missy…” The Doctor called out again, flushing pink to his ears, as he considered sticking his head around the door to the bathroom. Yet if she didn’t answer…

Putting his hand in front of his eyes, The Doctor edged into the bathroom, yet when there was only the sound of running water, he cracked them open a fraction, and peaked through the gap.

“Missy!” This time her name was ripped from his throat, as he closed the distance from the door to the shower in one long leap. His hands scrabbling with the controls, shivering as the freezing cold water soaked through his own jacket.

The shower shut off, The Doctor knelt down, his hands reaching out to touch Missy’s blue tinged face. Her skin looked pale as death, and yet when his fingers made contact, The Doctor almost pulled them away. He had expected her to be cold, and yet the skin under his fingertips was burning. The murmur of her thoughts, were like a garbled rush, and even pressing against her shields, The Doctor couldn’t elicit a response. 

He had never seen a regeneration sickness like this before. This was far beyond his ability to treat, especially with a barely functioning medbay, and for the first time, The Doctor found himself actually fearing for The Mistress. There were only two places in the universe they could go, where they could find healers who could help, and other than Skaro, they were the two planets in the universe The Doctor had vowed to avoid, at all cost…Karn…or Gallifrey.

\---/---


	7. Chapter 7

\---/---

It really wasn’t much of a choice. Although The Doctor had a mixed history with the Sisterhood of Karn, they at least were likely to listen to him, before throwing him in prison. His memories of his last trip to Gallifrey were hazy; The Doctor remembered exiling Rassilon, and the High Council, leaving him the defacto President of Gallifrey. Him the head of a military coup; he wondered if The Mistress knew that? He could only imagine her amusement, and jealousy, that he had once again achieved by accident, that which she had plotted, and striven for her entire life.

Yet after that his memories were fragmented, it had something to do with Clara, and he remembered shooting his own General. Even now the shiver ran down his spine, as he could hear his own voice, asking The General which regeneration they were on. It didn’t sound like him, too cold and callous, to dismiss taking a life, as being akin to man flu; the whine of the disruptor pistol, still caused The Doctor to shoot up from sleep in a cold sweat.

So Gallifrey was clearly not an option, yet his welcome on Karn was not due to be much warmer.

He landed the Tardis a good twenty feet outside of the cave system, that The Sisterhood called their home. Materialising inside would have been the height of bad manners, not to mention foolhardy, as despite their primitive appearance, The Sisterhood of Karn were more than capable of defending themselves.

Bending down, The Doctor placed his hand carefully on The Mistress’s cheek. He had bundled her shivering wet form up in a blanket, her skin was still burning to the touch, and her blank gaze blazed with fever.

“Just hold a little longer, help will be here soon.” The Doctor muttered to his insensate nemesis, indulging the nostalgic impulse, he brushed the wet curls away from her face. It was a tender gesture, and one he would never allow if Missy were awake, mainly because she would never let him forget it.

It was a sad testament of just how far their relationship had deteriorated, that The Doctor shied away from any small show of kindness, knowing that The Mistress would seize on any sign of weakness for her own ends. Her previous incarnation had taken his tenth self’s desperation, and loneliness, and had used it as an effective weapon against him, knowing that no matter what torture she inflicted on The Doctor, he would never hurt her back. 

Only that was a truth The Doctor couldn’t cling to anymore. He was no longer that Time Lord. 

He was a Time Lord who overthrew the government of Gallifrey, without any consideration for the fallout, who shot his own kind, for a reason he couldn’t even remember now, who stole the child of his oldest friend ,and lied about it. Missy thought her son was dead, and that it was her fault, when in reality the child was alive, and her desperate attempt to revive him had worked. It was times like this, The Doctor would almost welcome another memory purge.

With one last glance back at an insensate Missy, The Doctor headed towards the doors. She did look incapable of moving, but The Mistress had fooled him before when he believed her helpless, and the last thing he needed, was to be stranded on Karn, after she stole his Tardis. Fingers creeping around the edge of the door, as the warm dry air of Karn assailed his senses, The Doctor nervously poked his head around the frame, not particularly surprised, as even the early dawn light, the hooded figures of the sisterhood could be seen, as if they had simply sprang up out of the ground.

“Urmmm…Hello…” The Doctor cleared his throat nervously, as he called out into the awkward silence. 

“You are not welcome here Doctor, you bring bad spirits with you.” The familiar voice of Ohila, the High Priestess, rang out from the darkness, and The Doctor watched, as the creeping light of dawn revealed her slowly.

“I would hardly call her a spirit.” The Doctor retorted, his laughter dying in his throat, as Ohila’s gaze impossibly turned colder. “Please she is…was my friend and she needs help.”

“No.” Ohila’s answer was curt, and chilling, and for a moment The Doctor was so stunned, by the simple, yet steadfast refusal, that he stared at her disbelief.

“But…but she could die.”

“Then let her, one less problem for the universe to deal with.” Ohila retorted, as if she were merely commenting on the weather, and not someone’s life. 

Stunned by her answer The Doctor frowned, he refused to accept this no, as an answer, because if Karn refused aid, then that meant Gallifrey, and The Doctor would do just about anything, go just about anywhere, rather than return there. “You can’t just stand by, and let that happen, your elixir can save her, you saved me…”

“We owed you a debt Doctor, and that has earned you our assistance in the past, but this is too much, far more than the balance remaining.”

“So that’s it.” The Doctor spat. “You want paying this time. Fine how much does a life cost?”

“If you think insulting us…”

“How clumsy of me, I thought we were negotiating.” The Doctor snapped back, eyes blazing with anger. “You were the one who mentioned debts, and balances, so clearly you already have a price in mind, and all of this is simply for show, so how much?”

For a moment Ohila drew back, as if poised to leave calling his bluff, but when she hesitated, The Doctor knew he had her.

“A favour.” She replied softly, her words carried to him on the early morning breeze. 

Scowling deeply The Doctor pondered her price, he would pay it, the prospect of refusing had never crossed his mind, but he couldn’t help but wonder, why they asked for that of all things. “And by a favour, I am assuming you don’t mean a little token of my admiration.” The Doctor drawled sarcastically.

“You will come to our aid if we need you, whenever we need you, no matter if others are at risk, you will put us, and our needs first.” Ohila clarified, watching as The Doctor’s face turned ashen.

“I would have come to your aid without the need to bind me in such a promise.” The Doctor whispered sadly, the fire and anger draining out of him, as he stared in disappointment at the High Priestess. 

“Perhaps.” Ohila replied speculatively. “Perhaps you would have, but forgive me if I prefer to guarantee it.” Her eyes momentarily spoke of resigned regret.

The acknowledgement that something fragile had been broken between them, the trust forged between warriors in arms was a fragile thing. Yet as the leader of her people ,she had secured something far more solid than The Doctor’s fleeting loyalty, his word was his bond, and it would keep her sisters safe, even at the expense others. He would do it grudgingly, reluctantly even, but he would come when they called, and that was something that could be relied on.

“Do we have an accord?” Ohila asked.

“On one condition, I will not kill for you, not now, not ever.” The Doctor replied, his storm grey eyes so cold, as if any lingering regard had been drained from them.

“Of course, we are not monsters Doctor…you have clearly spent too long with humans if you even think we would ask for such a thing.” Ohila replied, her lip curling at the perceived insult. 

“So we have your word?” She asked, reaching out through the bonds of the sisterhood for the powers she needed, the power to implant the telepathic suggestion, and command, within a Time Lord, that they would be powerless to ignore.

“Yes you do.” Nodding The Doctor lowered his shields, and for a moment his head was suddenly full, the brand of the sisterhood burned, and he felt his hearts momentarily clench in his chest, as the binding took effect, before he pushed the feeling aside. He couldn’t dwell on it now, Missy needed help, and he could only hope that whatever, that whenever, the sisterhood demanded the fulfilment of his promise, that it wouldn’t break his hearts

“Then come, bring the abomination yourself, as none of my sisters will taint themselves by touching her.”

Gritting his teeth, The Doctor resisted the urge to snap back; after all if Missy was an abomination, what did that make them? 

She may have caused untold suffering in the universe, but her mind was broken, had been shattered by Rassilion, and his sadistic schemes. It wasn’t an excuse, nothing could excuse her crimes, not really, but it was enough of a reason for The Doctor, to allow himself to still care. She had been his friend once, and she had been hurt, and instead of helping, The Doctor had left her behind, and that was a guilt that never really went away, no matter how much he lied to himself about it. This time he could help, he wouldn’t run away again, The Doctor knew it wouldn’t make the guilt go away, but it might make living with it a bit easier.

The Sisterhood might not cause the suffering that The Mistress had, but they stood by, and observed it. They watched the ravages, the atrocities, and stayed safe on their world, merely watching the fireworks…that was what Ohila had called them. His own suffering at Rassilon’s hands, and the fallout on Gallifrey, had been entertainment to them, and that was something The Doctor found far harder to forgive, when they had no reasons to explain their cruelty. 

So he did as he was bade, and returned to the Tardis to recover a still unconscious Mistress. Gathering her up in his arms, he stepped back out in the scorching sun, to find only Ohila had remained to wait for him; the rest of her sisters had vanished back into the sands, as though they had never been there.

“Come.” The command was a pointless one; The Doctor had no choice but to follow. 

Biting back a retort, The Doctor chose his footholds carefully. He could carry The Mistress with ease, but the rocky ground was uneven, and he didn’t need to add any additional injuries to the tally, or he might end up bound for life to the sisterhood. So it was a distinct relief when they moved inside the caves, and its even well-trodden paths.

“How do you intend to cure her, if you won’t even touch her?” The Doctor finally asked, his curiosity overwhelming his anger.

“We will provide the elixir, but it will be down to you to administer it.” Ohila retorted sharply, as she led him expertly through the dark caves. “She will need careful monitoring Doctor, our potions are potent, and can kill as easily as cure.” 

“So I’ll be her…”

“…Doctor, or perhaps her nurse would be more accurate.” Ohila finished for him, an amused smirk twisting at her lips, as she led them into a room, that had crude openings carved into the walls, that allowed the morning light to dance across the red walls. 

“You may use this room during your stay.” She added, gesturing to the basic accommodation, a large basin of water set on a plinth, and a sunken pit lined with furs, that The Doctor assumed was for resting.

“One of our healers will be with your shortly, to assess her condition. I suggest you take the moment to rest Doctor, you are going to have a difficult few hours ahead of you.”

\---/---


	8. Chapter 8

\---/---

He could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest, fast and loud like a drum beat, so loud that surely Clara would be able to hear it, and easily find him in his hiding place. She had already found Nicole; his little sister’s happy shriek had been audible, even from Armand’s lofty perch in the stable gables. Well Armand was determined that his nursemaid, and best friend, would not find him so easily, he was a master of hide and seek ,and had spent much of those first few weeks after their arrival, in Poitiers, searching out the best hiding spaces.

Yet it wasn’t just his uncanny ability, to spot the things others seemed to miss, that made him the so far undefeated champion at hide and seek; Armand knew it was his ability to remain silent, and fade into the background, when he chose, that aided him. Still as his grumbling hungry belly joined, his drum beating heart, Armand wondered just how long he could hold out in the stables, before he chose to give in. Being Champion of hide and seek, was all well and good, but it couldn’t compare to munching on oat cakes, whilst he listened to Clara make her halting way through the nursery primer.

Armand was caught in his decision, when his sharp ears caught the sound of footsteps…perhaps Clara would find him after all?

Creeping to the edge of the hayloft, Armand peeked over the edge, smothering a grin with his hand, as he watched his best friend creep around the dark, and gloomy stables, his oldest brother insisted were haunted. If Clara was scared by their stories, she didn’t let it stop her, and Armand felt a rush of pride for his brave friend, when even Armand’s second oldest brother, Alphonse, refused to set foot inside them after Henri’s stories. 

At nearly fourteen Clara was almost twice his age, but Armand had always been unnaturally serious, and mature for his years, and so other than a small difference in height ,it never seemed to Armand that she was that much older than him. Besides he was growing like a weed, or at least that was what his mother said, with a mixture of exasperation, and tempered fondness. Armand was already taller than both Alphonse and Francoise, and was destined to be unnaturally tall, for his family. Clara by contrast, had barely altered from the twelve year old nursery maid, who had taken his hand, all those years ago in Paris.

She was still kind, and delicate, and brave, and very pretty…flushing as he pushed away thoughts of Clara’s big brown eyes, Armand couldn’t help but follow his friend with his gaze, from his hidden perch, his grin growing behind his hand, as she took a step towards the ladder that led to his perch.

A sudden bang had both of them jumping; only Armand’s hand smothered his cry of surprise.

“Jean!” Clara’s normally soft voice scolded loudly, and Armand smirked as a rather cowed looking stable boy entered his view, struggling under the weight of the tack, he had clearly dropped only a moment ago.

A blush staining his cheeks, Jean shuffled over to the rack and laid down his burden, before turning back to the pretty nursemaid. “I didn’t mean to scare you Clara.”

“I wasn’t scared, you just startled me, making all that noise.” Clara retorted smartly, and Armand silently cheered her on. His Clara wasn’t scared of anything.

“I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, and in the light I thought you were…”

“Oh honestly, have you been listening to those silly ghost stories as well?” Clara tutted, and if it were possible Jean seemed to blush more, something that looked down right ridiculous, Armand thought, with all those freckles of his.

“You might scoff Clara, but Charles and Remy swear they saw her too…”

“Charles and Remy were probably drunk again, and you should know better, than to spread their gossip for them. Monsieur Henri has already spread those stories to the nursery, and poor Mademoiselle Nicole, keeps thinking this white lady will come out, and snatch her out of her bed.”

Shrugging his shoulders Jean clearly thought such a thing might be possible, but faced with Clara’s petite fierceness, didn’t dare voice such a thing out loud. “So if not ghost hunting, why are you out here?”

“Looking for Master Armand of course.” Clara replied simply, as if such a thing should have been obvious, her charge was infamous for his escapologist tendencies.

“You should just lock that boy in the nursery and be done with it, he’s a damn menace.” Jean jested, and Armand glared down at him, willing his gaze to burn into the back of the gangly stable boy.

“He’s a boy, he’s meant to be into everything.” Clara defended her friend, and Jean once again wilted in the face of her fierce protectiveness. “Besides, you know how Madam will react if he goes missing for too long.”

“Aye if she could still have him swaddled and fed from the teat…” Jean began, only for Clara’s small little fist to punch him in the arm. “Alright…I’m sorry…” He pleaded, raising his hands in surrender. “No more teasing, I promise.”

“Good, you should show some respect for your employers.” Clara tutted, much to Armand’s approval, no one insulted his mother, and if it wouldn’t mean giving up his own favourite hiding space, Armand would have marched down there himself, and demanded restitution from the upstart boy.

“It’s nice that you care about the family so much Clara…” Jean began, cautiously pausing as if searching for the right words. “Just be careful alright?”

“I don’t know what…”

“Yes you do.” Jean corrected her, watching as Clara’s face tensed, those large dark eyes of her suddenly vulnerable. 

“Just remember, it doesn’t matter how much you might love those children you look after, they aren’t really your family, one day they will be all grown up, and I’ll they move on, and forget about you.” He added, and Armand now really wanted to sit up, and shout out he was wrong.

Of course Clara was family, of course he would never forget about her, and he waited with baited breath for Clara to speak up, and do it for him….Only she didn’t deny it…she didn’t speak at all, and Armand sank back down into the hay, his own thundering heart breaking slightly.

Releasing a loud breath that he had clearly been holding, in anticipation of some sort of explosion, Jean reached out, and took the trembling girls hand, pressing it gently. “It’s just…well I mean…” He stumbled over his words again. “Well if one day, you did want to think about maybe having a family of your own again.”

“Jean are asking to court me?” Clara asked softly, her voice barely carrying up to the hayloft.

“That depends, on whether, or not you are going to punch me again for me cheek?” Jean teased, breaking the awkward tension that had hung over them.

“I might regardless.” Clara retorted, with a hint of a smile playing about her lips. “I’ll think about it.”

“About the courting, or about punching me?” Jean asked nervously, his unease multiplying, as rather than answer Clara’s smile turned positively evil. Then she shifted up on to her tip toes, and pressed a chaste kiss to the boys freckled cheek, before turning, and with a swing in her step, leaving a blushing Jean to stare after her.

Meanwhile up in the hayloft, Armand glared down at the oblivious boy, his little fists clenched into fists, as he tasted the bitter bile of something new…something powerful…hate curdled inside him…hate, and possessiveness, and jealousy…

Clara was his best friend, she was his family, no matter what this stupid boy had made her believe, and Jean was not going to take her away from him, and Armand was not going to share her with him either. 

No Jean had to go, Armand just had to find a way to make it happen.

\---/---

He hadn’t noticed the blow coming…

Dizzy and more than a little dazed, The Doctor sluggishly ducked out of the way of the next flailing arm, landing heavily on the soft furs, and blinking his double vision away, until the red walls came back into focus. He was going to have one hell of a headache when all this was over, but The Doctor didn’t regret it. 

If he had the choice again, he knew he would still offer to help, his guilt wouldn’t allow him a different choice. Yet there was a big difference between the abstract, and living through the consequences, and he wasn’t even the one undergoing the treatment. 

Still it would be a lot easier if Missy would stop whimpering, dammit even screaming would be better. He had heard The Mistress scream before, as terrible as that sounded, it was at least something he was prepared for. Yet hearing the proud Time Lady, who had plotted, and schemed as a burnt living corpse; who had burned up her own life force, with barely a flinch, moaning and crying out, with no restraint that really frightened him.

The elixir had the power to give life, and take it in equal measure, and it had to be precisely administered. Each person reacted to it differently. The Doctor had himself been dead, or near death when his eighth self had been treated with the elixir. If he had suffered, The Doctor could no longer remember. However watching Missy burn up in front of him, trapped in some nightmare she couldn’t escape, reduced to whimpering like a child, frightened him. Yet as bad as the fever dreams were, they were almost easier to bear than the moments of lucidity.

“Thete…Thete…”

Hearing his childhood name muttered through dry lips, The Doctor heaved himself back up, his hands automatically reaching for the cloth that had once been on Missy’s forehead. Dipping it in the basin of water, The Doctor relished the cool feeling against his own tired skin, wringing out the cloth, he placed it back on Missy’s forehead.

“Shush it’s alright.” He muttered, as she started at the sudden contact, surprised as he suddenly found his hand covered, and gripped tightly…perhaps the elixir was finally doing something, as her grip seemed stronger.

“Where are we?”

“Karn.” The Doctor answered gently, confused, as rather than being reassured Missy seemed to panic, actually trying to sit up, before collapsing back against the furs.

“We can’t stay here, they hate Time Lords. We have to leave…”

“They don’t hate them.” The Doctor tried to reassure her, after all it wasn’t Time Lords in general that The Sisterhood had difficulties with, it was more a personal aversion to The Mistress herself…he would have to remember to ask her about that one of these days… “Besides you’re too sick to leave.”

“Sick?” Missy blinked her gaze, blown pupils searching wildly, before landing on his general direction. Her manicured eyebrows rising dramatically, as she stared up at him, a shaky hand rising up to tentatively touch his cheek. 

Freezing at the unexpected contact, The Doctor held himself steady, his gaze following her fingertips out of the corner of his eye, as they followed the deep grooves that age had left in his cheek, before reaching up to twist a grey curl around her finger.

“You’re so old…”

“We are both old.” The Doctor corrected her, even if he was the one outwardly showing his advancing years in this regeneration, still he couldn’t help but act piqued, he may look old, but he didn’t feel it.

“Am I? Everything’s all fuzzy.” Missy replied, scrunching up her nose in a gesture that on anyone else would be adorable, but for The Mistress…well The Doctor doubted anyone could associate the two things together. 

Only then she sighed, and tucked her head down, and into the crook under his chin. It was an unconscious gesture, one that had been repeated, so often when they had been gangly youths, that all but sense memory had forgotten it. To have her do it, again now, after so many years apart, and the uncounted heartache between them, well it jarred The Doctor terribly, the memories of those long happy summer days, rushing back, and hitting him hard between the hearts.

“Will you look after me?” Missy asked, voice muffled against his neck.

Resting his chin against her head, The Doctor curled his hand into her long hair, stroking it gently until he felt Missy’s breathing even out. “Yes I will look after you.” He whispered to the quiet room, another promise, this one freely given, and no less binding, and yet The Doctor wondered in the fullness of time, which of the two would be easier to bear. 

\---/---


	9. Chapter 9

\---/---

“Are you planning on sulking in here all day, only some of us actually have work to do?”

Staring down at the page he had been unsuccessfully trying to read, Armand toyed with the idea of ignoring his eldest brother. He and Henri had never been particularly close, even before his brother had left for school. Yet his brother had only grown more distant since their father’s death, and the weight of being the head of the family, had fallen on his slender shoulders.

In truth he was hiding. Clara was upset, and Armand for once was making himself scarce, since he knew the reason why. 

Her little amour Jean had been dismissed from the household staff; after he had been caught pilfering from the household stores…well caught wasn’t entirely accurate. 

It had been all too easy to start the petty thefts from the household, no one ever saw Armand when he didn’t want to be seen. It was only when a bottle of good wine vanished, under Madam Robert’s watch, that a search was taken up, and low and behold was discovered, hidden in the hayloft nook slept in by the stable boy.

Armand hadn’t been sad to see him go. Jean had tried to take his Clara away from him, and he had to pay for such impertinence, but Armand was unhappy to see Clara so upset by it. It made his stomach, twist in a way made him feel uncomfortable…yet it was a sensation Armand was determined to squash, and in the meantime avoiding Clara made it easier to manage.

“I am reading.” Armand replied, turning the page of the book, even though he hadn’t finished it. 

“Amusing little brother, I didn’t realise that book had pictures.”

Biting his lip, Armand chose to ignore his brother’s jibe. Everyone in the household knew he could read perfectly well, better than well, it was only Henri who insisted on belittling him in this way. It would be easier to bear if Henri was stupid himself, but unfortunately, his eldest brother was the closest in intelligence to Armand himself. He was the only other member of the du Plessis family, who spent any time in the library, and thankfully Henri spent most of the year at school in Paris, so Armand was only forced to share it during the summer. 

“Shouldn’t you be outside playing with that wild little nursemaid of yours?”

“She’s not…” Armand began hotly, only to stop when Henri lifted his blond head from between the pages of the ledger he was studying, to smirk at the reaction he had finally managed to provoke.

“You should learn to hide your weak spots better little brother.” Henri added, before returning to his work. “You will have to learn that before you go to school…well if you go…” He added.

“Of course I’m going to school.” Armand insisted, putting down the book he had been failing to lose himself in, and marching across to confront Henri. “You go to school, even Alphonse goes…” He added hotly, only pausing to blush at his faux pas. Alphonse was a sensitive subject in the family, the middle du Plessis brother wasn’t stupid, far from it, but book learning had always been a struggle for him. 

“Well how are you planning on paying for it?” Henri retorted, leaning back in the leather back chair, his hands steepled in front of him, as he stared down at his little brother with the superiority only a fifteen year old could possess. “It costs money to go to school Armand, and unless you are quite as a stupid, and ignorant as the rest of them, you know there is no money anymore, only debt.”

Father’s debts, the one topic their mother refused to discuss in front of her younger children, as if Armand was blind to the reason they had to leave Paris in the first place, and retreat to the family holdings in Poitiers. It was much cheaper to run a household here; they could use the kitchen gardens to grow some of their food, even if the estate brought in little. Armand had overheard his mother, and brother arguing about money many times over the last few years, that he supposed he had become immune to it after a while. Yet not to be able to go to school because of it…

How was he ever to make anything of himself if he didn’t go?

He was a third son, the spare of the spare. Henri was the heir, Alphonse was destined to be ordained to the family’s bishopric of Richelieu and he, unless he made something of himself first, was destined for the army. Yet Armand knew, at eight years old he had little desire to spend his life marching up, and down the country, attacking one enemy, and then the next, at the whim of his king. It wasn’t the thought of bloodshed that put him off, he had never been squeamish in the slightest, it just seemed so very pointless, when the same outcome could be achieved more elegantly, by other means.

“I am going to school Henri, Mama will find a way.” Armand insisted, ignoring his elder brother’s superior expression, as he turned and ceded the field to him.

Today Henri might be smirking, secure he had bested his little brother, but he didn’t know who he was dealing with. One day, he swore everyone would know the name, Armand Jean du Plessis.

\---/---

It wasn’t working.

He had tried everything he knew to try and bring her temperature down, but The Doctor was out of ideas, and he wasn’t sure which he hated more, his own ineptitude, or the way the Sisters stood by, and watched, and did nothing to help. The Mistress was dying in front of him, and all he had managed, was to make her final hours hell for them both.

“I’m not in the mood for your gloating.” The Doctor’s voice sounded raspy and weary to his own ears, but he didn’t lift his gaze to see how Ohila reacted. If he was honest he no longer cared much for how the Sisterhood of Karn viewed him, or his patient.

“If she had been worthy, she would not have suffered.” Ohila’s tone sounded patronising, and more than a little smug. “That’s how the elixir works Doctor, surely you knew that?”

“All I know is my friend is dying, and you are the one standing there, pleased about it, what does that say about your own worthiness?” The Doctor bit back, then as if by rote, he removed the drying cloth from Missy’s forehead, and dipped it back into the bowl of cold water, before gently wiping in the sweat from her face.

The fever had burned through her now, where there had once been whimpering, and the occasional lucid interlude, Missy was now unconscious, and The Doctor thanked small mercies for that; at least she wasn’t suffering like she had been.

“It is not my sins being judged here Doctor. The elixir comes from our sacred flame; it is connected to the time vortex. You were saved, because your existence was essential for the natural progression of the time stream, but that creature has done nothing, but destroy, and spread the disease of chaos wherever she goes, is it any wonder when she judged, she is made to suffer for her crimes?”

“You do not have the right to judge her.” The Doctor spat back, he could feel his anger coursing under his skin barely, contained below the surface. “What worthiness is there in your Order? Sitting back and watching the suffering of the universe, like it is a show put on for your entertainment, and then washing your hands of any involvement.”

“We do not kill…”

“No?” The Doctor sneered. “Am I to suppose, that simply out of the blue, Rassilion just got the idea of trapping me in my confessional dial, in a never ending loop of fear, torture, and death?”

“You look alive and well to me…”

“I died, over, and over again, for 4.5 billion years. Was that not enough entertainment for you?” The Doctor hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “So instead you trick me, with promises to help, when all the while you had no intention of saving her…”

“You made a bargain for our Elixir Doctor.” Ohila retorted sharply. “We delivered on our end of the deal; we never guaranteed it would work.”

It stung to hear the truth, but The Doctor was too far gone into his rage to pay it much heed. That was the literal truth after all, and then there was real truth, and that told The Doctor he had been tricked, and played for a fool. “No but you never warned me either. I would have thought, I might have been owed that at least.”

“Very few of us ever get what we are owed Doctor.” Ohila replied, this time her tone was almost…regretful, and The Doctor dragged his gaze from Missy’s too pale face, to meet her dark gaze. 

Blue grey eyes blazing with anger, and pain, and the oncoming storm, that would engulf this planet in a rage of grief. “If she dies…”

“When she dies.” Ohila corrected him, yet her tone was far gentler than he expected. “We have never had a postulate, undergo the ritual for this long, who has survived. I imagine it would require her existence, to be essential in preventing the end of the universe, for her to…”

“Thete?”

Startled, The Doctor was at first convinced he was hearing things, and then that he was seeing things. Confused blue eyes stared up at him, blinking as if the weight of holding them open was too great.

“Kos…Kos can you hear me?” The Doctor pleaded, relieved beyond measure, when her eyes opened once more, and seemed to focus on him.

“That’s not pos…” Ohila protested in the background, but The Doctor ignored her entirely, as he crouched down, and cradled Missy’s face…her skin felt cooler to the touch already, but he couldn’t bring himself to hope…too believe…

“Kos?”

“Course I can hear you…I’m tired not deaf.” Missy grumbled, focusing on his soppy expression, and scowling. “I’m thirsty.”

Scrabbling for the clay cup, The Doctor dipped it in the ever filling chilled bowl, bringing it to The Mistress’s lips, and tilting it, so she could sip from it slowly. Before she had even managed half the cup, Missy’s eyes were falling closed again.

“You should let her sleep.” Ohila remarked, as The Doctor moved to shake Missy awake once more. “Sleep’s the best medicine for her now…for you both I would imagine. The danger is behind you Doctor.”

As much as he wanted to ignore her advice, one glance at his own shaking hand convinced The Doctor of his own exhaustion. An hour or so couldn’t hurt. And now that the rush of adrenaline was wearing off, The Doctor could feel the emotional crush press him down into the fur lined pit. A lingering fear had him pulling Missy into his arms, savouring her momentary protest, as he disturbed her sleep.

She was alive…he had saved her. 

Closing his eyes The Doctor tried not to dwell of Ohila’s words, that only a universal cataclysm could offset Missy’s crimes, enough to save her life. For now she lived, and that was all that mattered…for once, the rest of the universe could wait.

\---/---

The sensation of waking free from pain was still something of a novelty. The growing awareness that she was not alone even more so, and The Mistress’s instinctive response, was one of tightly controlled panic. Her eyes shot open, and her gaze flew around the room; the red stone walls were unfamiliar, and basic, and did nothing to assuage her alarm. She was not someone who willingly shared their bed space, with anyone, and the feeling of another body pressed against her own, when she couldn’t remember how, or…

The tightening of her bed mate’s arm around her, caused Missy to tense even further, her secondary bypass kicking in as she was…cuddled.

Surely they must have a death wish, as there was no one who The Mistress would deign to cuddle back. If it wasn’t for how weak, and lethargic she felt, and how her bed mate had her arms pinned to her sides, as they…

She hadn’t been nuzzled in years, and Missy was so shocked by the gesture, she actually gasped. Her primary respiratory system kicking back in, and she drew in a breath, accompanied by the rather pungent smell of her own unwashed self, and underneath that, another scent that was as familiar to her as her own. 

Him…well perhaps maiming and vivisection might be a tiny bit of an overreaction then.

How many years had it been since he had held her? Really held her, like this, out of choice and not because he needed to restrain her, or because…because…the memories of those brief moments being held, in his tenth incarnations arms, the whispered pleas, first of forgiveness, and then the tearful requests to regenerate. 

There were moments when she almost regretted… no she had sworn years ago to never indulge in that weakness of character, The Mistress did not feel guilt, or regret, and yet she could admit, albeit with some reluctance, that she had missed this. 

The puff of air against her ear, caused a corner of Missy’s mouth to curl into an almost smile. 

He still snored. 

Even after all these years, it was the same, no matter the body it seemed. A soft almost silent inhalation, followed by a gentle puff of air, blown out between his lips. When they had been boys, Missy had amused herself no end, watching her lover sleep. Thete had been able to doze off anywhere, and Missy had enjoyed wearing him out, irrespective of their location…and taking advantage. 

Only she didn’t have any red grass strands to hand now, and besides, Missy doubted The Doctor would be quite so indulgent, as he had once been of her mischievous streak. Moreover the last thing she wanted to do now was wake him. No once he woke, The Doctor would withdraw, Missy knew he would. This was a fleeting moment, and it was all the more precious because of it. 

Allowing her eyes fall closed, Missy felt the adrenaline rush ebb, and fade, her hearts settling down into a calmer pattern. Wiggling a hand free, she lifted it, and covered The Doctor’s own, her small fingers slipping easily between his own. There now, Missy sighed in something approaching contentment, as she snuggled back against the sold warmth behind her, slowing her breathing so that it…

Only, The Doctor wasn’t snoring any longer.

“I know you’re awake.” The Doctor’s voice was rough sounding to her ear. “I felt you tense up, and your hearts are pounding.”

Blushing in embarrassment, at being caught in a moment of open affection, Missy averted her gaze, as The Doctor shifted behind her; the sudden loss of his heat against her back caused her to shiver, and finally catch sight of her attire…or lack of it.

“I see you didn’t waste any time.” Missy huffed, resisting the primitive instinct to cover herself. 

Only humans were embarrassed by exposing their natural forms, Time Lords covered themselves, not out of shame, but because their very position in society was reinforced, by the clothing they attired themselves in. Only idiots like The Doctor or the Outsiders payed so little care to their appearance. At least this time The Doctor had abandoned that space tramp look he had been sporting on Skaro. The velvet was still an eccentric choice, but at least it was red, a proper colour for a Time Lord.

“Believe it or not, but you stripped off all by yourself, I played no part in it.” The Doctor tutted, even so he did offer Missy his red velvet jacket, as he caught her shivering in her undergarments.

The last thing he needed now was for her to catch a cold, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with how long and distracting her neck was, without the high collar and cameo to disguise it.

Tugging on the soft velvet ,Missy was immediately surrounded by The Doctor’s scent once more, and it calmed her despite herself. Her eyes shifted quickly around the room, the air was fresh and unrecycled, so they were on a planet. The gravity felt heavier than Gallifrey, or Earth, and there was a distinct tang of incense and patronisation in the air.

Her lip curling in revulsion, Missy practically spat out the words in disgust. “Why on Omega did you bring us to Karn?”

“You were sick, don’t you remember?” The Doctor replied, ignoring Missy’s petulance, as he stretched out his aching limbs. “It was this, or Gallifrey, and considering you’re probably a wanted criminal there…”

“Wrongly convicted.” Missy interjected, choosing to ignore The Doctor’s look of disbelief. “I only zapped Rassilion through two regenerations before they could stop me; I mean I hardly deserve punishment for that, he was a psychotic despot, and I did save the universe.”

“I recall it slightly differently…” The Doctor frowned. “I saved the universe, you put it in danger in the first place.”

“Yes well you fell from a spaceship, you probably had concussion.” Missy huffed. “It always has to be about you, doesn’t it, can’t share the glory with anyone else…”

“Jealous much?” The Doctor snorted, as Missy rolled her eyes. “Besides Rassilion is in exile…”

“What the High Council finally grew a backbone?”

“No…” The Doctor paused, an unwelcome heat flooding his cheeks, as he suddenly found Missy’s piercing blue gaze too heavy to bear, as it pinned him in place. “I did…and the high council…They just caught me on a very bad day, and well it wasn’t like they didn’t deserve it.”

“Whatever you say Mr President.” Missy retorted smugly, her grin widening as her barb hit home. “Say does this mean you could pardon me?”

“I doubt it.” The Doctor muttered, rubbing his neck, an awkward reflex this body seemed to have picked up. “I don’t really remember it all, but I got into a bit of a pickle, so I stole a Tardis, and ran off…I’m probably back on the renegade list by now.”

“You stole another Tardis?” Missy snorted, her laughter bubbling out of her in snorts and starts, until she fell back against the fur covered bed, holding her stomach. “Ow that hurts.”

“Then stop bloody laughing.” The Doctor huffed, yet there was no hiding the smile that tugged at his own lips, as he crouched down beside the fur lined pit, and watched his laughing friend…the friend that barely a few hours before, he was certain he was going to lose, this time for good.

Catching her breath Missy stared up, her expression curious as she watched The Doctor, watching her, with an expression far softer, and less angry than she was used to. It was almost fond, and indulgent, and Missy couldn’t help but preen under it. Honestly if all it took for him to forgive her was for her to…to…

The Doctor knew the moment Missy’s memory began to return. The half-smile on her face froze in place, but her eyes…he could see the sudden gathering of storm clouds…a sheen, that in anyone else he might have mistaken for tears, and yet for The Mistress...

“You saved my life.” Missy stated, lightly, as if she were commenting on the weather. A slight frown gathering between her slender eyebrows, as if she were merely puzzling over some new equation. “Why?”

“Because…” The Doctor began before his words stalled in his throat. 

There were so many reasons, their connection, past, present, and probably future, that he felt he owed Missy. Twice now, in recent regenerations, she had put herself in danger to save him, first Rassilion, then saving him from Davros…a compliment he never managed to repay, and the guilt of that failure, and the memories of her screams, under torture, still haunted him. Then there was the mistake he could never now undo, her child…their child. He had sworn to tell Missy the truth, and he couldn’t carry out that promise if she was dead, and yet here she was alive, and looking up at him with such open interest, and trust, and he should…but somehow the words were stuck in his throat.

“Because I could.” The Doctor added finally, it was a flimsy argument, and Missy wasn’t buying it either, if the way her nose scrunched up was any indication. 

“Look there is no point dwelling on the past, you are alive, and I am glad about it.” The Doctor insisted. “We could sit here arguing the whys, and wherefores, or we could get back to the Tardis, and what do you say, do you fancy Floredean Prime for breakfast?”

Letting it go for now, Missy tapped her ring finger against her lips, as if considering his question. The Doctor was hiding something, and she wanted to know what it was. Well she would find out eventually, The Doctor was a terrible liar, and it wasn’t as though she was going to let him leave her behind, on Karn, of all places.

“Only if we can go to that restaurant in the mountains, the one with the revolving top, and the water slide down to the bottom.”

“Fine if you like.” The Doctor conceded. At least the slide would allow for a quick getaway if Missy got them into any trouble. 

Offering her his hand, The Doctor helped The Mistress to stand, she had been deathly ill only a few hours before, he wasn’t taking any chances. Still he had expected her to drop it when she was safely upright, not to thread their fingers together, as if it was perfectly normal for them still hold hands.

“What? I might get a sudden dizzy spell.” Missy explained nonchalantly at The Doctor’s quizzical expression. “You wouldn’t want me to fall and hurt myself, now would you?”

Deciding silence was better part of valour in this case; The Doctor led them out of their room, and back along the winding cavern corridors of the sisterhood’s sanctuary. The sun had already crept over the mountain range, flooding the rock strewn valley with bright orange light that glinted off of any reflective surface. Squinting against the blinding light, The Doctor could already feel the temperature rising. Karn’s sun made living on the surface of the planet, during the day, an almost impossible feat, but fortunately he had only parked his Tardis on the very perimeter of the sanctuary, and they could be inside her safety in mere moments. That was if he could see through this glare.

Lifting his free hand to protect his gaze, knowing it would only take a moment for his eyes to adjust, The Doctor stepped forward, only for Missy’s tight hold on his hand to stop him. 

“Come on Missy my Tardis is just…”

“I know, and she’s not alone.” The Mistress hissed. “And neither are we.”

The moment his eyes adjusted, The Doctor realised just what she meant, there surrounding his Tardis, in their shiny uniforms, and their sleek ships, were the Chancellery Guards. It appeared their days of being renegades were numbered.

\---/---


	10. Chapter 10

\---/---

He was going to school after all, despite Henri’s taunts. Yet his brother had been right about one thing, the estate couldn’t afford to send him. In the end it was his mother’s brother who had offered to pay, and his Mama had made Armand promise to work hard, to prove to his Uncle he deserved it. He was a bright child, and they expected him to excel, and if he failed to impress…

Well Armand doubted he needed to worry about that. He was already far ahead of his peers he was sure of that. He had read every book in the family library, and his brother Alphonse had kindly lent him the some of the notes, and exercises he had brought home for school. It was a kind gesture, albeit perhaps a less than effective one, as even Alphonse struggled to read his own notes, his brother really had no idea about spelling.

Alphonse would be returning with him to Paris, back to the College de Navarre, but much to Armand’s delight, his eldest brother Henri would not be accompanying them. At sixteen Henri was on the cusp of adulthood, and his mother was anxious for him to finally step up into his role of head of the du Plessis family. His father’s creditors had long been baying to get a slice of what was owed to them, and only his brother’s minority, and the perversities of the French legal system had held them at bay this long.

Yet as much as Armand longed to return to Paris, and the challenge of College, the realities of leaving behind his Mama, little Nicole, and Clara was only now settling in. 

“You know Master Armand you really should stop running away and hiding, it is unbecoming of a boy of your years.”

Not sure whether he should scow,l or smile, Armand found himself doing a bit of both, and at least that caused Clara to laugh, as she bent down and crawled into his hiding space with him. 

“I was just thinking.” Armand insisted, even as he shifted a little, to make room for his best friend to sit beside him.

“About school?” Clara prompted him gently. She had known Armand too long now, not to know when he was upset about something, and trying not to show it. Sometimes he wanted to talk about it, other times he just wanted to sit alone with his thoughts, the trick was in knowing which was which.

“Yes and about…about what I will have to leave behind. I’ll be gone, and you’ll be here, and you’ll all forget about me.” Armand finally confessed, surprised that admitting it aloud made him feel a little less frightened.

“Don’t be silly, no one could ever forget about you.” Clara insisted sharply, before biting down on her lip. Madam Robert was forever chastising her to mind her tongue, that she was too free with the young Master and Mistress, she was their nursemaid, and not their friend, and as such she should not go giving her opinion quite so freely. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“You promise?” Armand whispered, lifting his head to meet her gaze.

“I promise, besides if anyone should be worried it’s me. You’re the one going on a big adventure; you’ll make all these new clever friends, and then when you come home, you won’t want to bother with me anymore.” Clara replied sadly, children grew up, and as close as they were now she was still a servant.

“I will always want to bother with you!” Armand insisted, his heart lurching a little at the thought Clara might doubt him. “Always!” He added emphatically, his pride hurt a little when Clara laughed at his earnestness. 

“Alright I believe you. If you promise you won’t get bored of me, I will promise not to forget you.” She pledged, touched when Armand offered her his hand to shake like an equal.

Slipping her hand into his, Clara was stunned when instead Armand raised it to his lips, like a gentleman dandy of twenty five years not nine, and placed a chaste kiss on the back, before breaking into a wide grin that was more his age. “Sealed with a kiss, now you have to keep it.”

“Well if that’s the case.” Clara teased, leaning forward she pressed a kiss to Armand’s cheek, relishing the bright red blush that flooded his face. “Just to make sure…”

Laughing Clara pulled back, and scrabbled out from under the table, brushing down her skirts from any dirt. “Now come along Master Armand, your Mother is having tea in the garden, and she sent me to find you.”

Struck dumb for a moment, Armand was certain time had stopped the moment Clara’s lips touched his cheek. Yet his friend’s chiding jarred him back to the present, and Armand hurried to join her. He could still feel the place on his skin where she had kissed him, even if the rest of his face was burning with embarrassment. 

Clara was the first girl, who wasn’t his mother, or his sister to kiss him, and Armand’s stomach squirmed in response. Yet it wasn’t a bad feeling, it was like he had swallowed a swarm of butterflies, combined with the excitement that normally preceded his nameday celebrations. Armand was certain…fairly certain in fact, that if she wanted to kiss him again that he wouldn’t fuss about it like a baby, and that maybe one day he might like to find out, what it felt like to kiss her back.

\---/---

The army was still efficient. It was a strange thing to notice, in the midst of being taken prisoner by his own people once more, but The Doctor’s mind had always worked a little differently than most Time Lords. Efficient, and emotionless ,and unfortunately for him…well for them…The Doctor chanced a glance over to The Mistress, with whom the soldiers were taking no risks. 

The Doctor had been restrained with a simple brace across his elbows, and another at his wrists, and his pockets had been searched, his beloved sonic screwdriver taken from him. Yet the soldiers doing so had been firm but respectful. Clearly his image, as the once saviour of Gallifrey, was more pervasive than The Doctor had believed, still it afforded him some protection, protection that was not extended to Missy.

Still The Mistress knew better than to push her luck. The Doctor could only thank, that this regeneration of hers seemed less psychotic than the last, he had encountered. She didn’t try to fight, or bait the soldiers, as they restrained her. Even if The Doctor considered the gag, and blindfold excessive, the Time Lords clearly did not, and they did have more experience than him in imprisoning The Mistress. Even so, The Doctor had no desire to see her harmed, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for her wellbeing. He had brought her to Karn, and it was his fault trusting in The Sisterhood, when clearly he had been a fool to do so.

Turning back to the silent shrouded Ohila, The Doctor didn’t attempt to hide his scorn. “You betrayed us?”

If Ohila was affected by his accusation, she showed no sign of it, and The Doctor considered it yet another sign of his own foolishness. When was he going to learn? Davros had once predicted that it would be The Doctor’s compassion that killed him, but The Doctor wondered if it wasn’t his trusting nature, that would really spell his doom?

“Karn has a treaty with Gallifrey Doctor, or have you forgotten? And that treaty has explicit instructions about how to handle the extradition of criminal elements.” Ohila replied mildly, as if merely commenting on the weather. “If you required sanctuary, then you should have negotiated for it.”

“I trusted you.” The Doctor retorted. “A mistake I will not make again.”

“Oh I am not so sure about that.” Ohila huffed, this time the derision dripping from her lips. “After all you keep trusting that monster.”

“She passed your bloody test, that’s what this really about. When you thought she was going to die, you were happy to leave well enough alone.” The Doctor snapped, knowing he had hit the nail on the head when she flinched.

“Goodbye Doctor, I am sure with time to reflect, you will come to realise this is all for your own good.” Ohila insisted. “By the time we meet again…”

“You had better pray to your sacred flame that we do not meet again.” The Doctor hissed. 

Betrayals against himself The Doctor could excuse…eventually…how else could he ever find it in himself, to forgive Missy’s many trespasses against him. Yet betrayals that hurt his friends, and despite everything The Mistress was still dear to him, and The Doctor wasn’t fool enough, not to fear for her fate at the hands of their people.

“But we will meet again Doctor. You are bound to the fate of my people, and when you are needed you will be called, and you will answer.” Ohila predicted, and The Doctor felt a reinforcing tug between his hearts. 

The threat was all too clear, he had bound himself to The Sisterhood in a fool’s bargain, to save his friend’s life, and one day in his future they would call in that debt, and he would answer, or it would be his own life that was forfeit. 

\---/---


	11. Chapter 11

\---/---

They had been separated the moment the troop ship landed; Missy didn’t need her vision back to tell her that. There was always a different type of energy in the air when The Doctor was present…something difficult to describe, but when separated, it was akin to the lights in a room suddenly dimming.

As she was strong armed along endless corridors, The Mistress did her best to try and discern where she was being taken. They hadn’t put her onto another ship, so the likelihood was high, that she was to remain in the capital. Clearly they must have restored the environmental dome, as instead of the unforgiving heat, that had dominated Gallifrey during the later end of the war, and her own imprisonment, the temperature was perfectly balanced. Not too hot, not too cold, the air processed for bacterial infections, that left a dry slightly chemical tang to the back of her throat. 

She had never minded the taste during her youth. Back then it was the taste of success. 

Galiifrey was the principle world in the Time Lord empire, and the capitol dome housed the cream of Time Lord Society; a cream that once upon a time, she had belonged to…unlike The Doctor…her dear wild little Doctor. 

Around the gag Missy couldn’t help but smile, at the memory of that half wild little boy she had first met, the one that hated the rigid structure of Time Lord Society, who would shirk off his official robes at every occasion, and somehow escape outside of the capitol dome, whenever he was able.

The Mistress had accompanied him on many such occasions, happy to spend time with her friend, even if the wilderness areas of Gallifrey held little personal appeal. At the time, she had been so sure she had understood why The Doctor loathed the Capital, but on reflection, Missy now knew she hadn’t understood why The Doctor preferred to run away. 

Not then perhaps…but now…now, she thought she finally understood why. 

The once great and mighty Time Lord Empire was a joke, only her people seemed oblivious of the punchline. Here they sat, at the arse end of the universe. Their empire lost, their planet, a hollow shell of the wonder it had once been, their people scrabbling around to survive, hiding, and vulnerable, and yet they still persisted in upholding rules, and institutions that no longer had any meaning; if they ever really had any in the first place.

Time Lord Justice…what a farce…dragging her back here, to answer for her supposed crimes, when the stupid fools should actually be begging her, on bended knee, for her help. 

The Mistress had survived, despite everything the universe threw at her; she could have taught them more than a thing or two, about how to claw your way back, from nothing, to being back on top. Only the pompous fools were far too stupid to think of that, their ceremonial hats so tight, they were clearly starving their brains of oxygen.

Snorting at her own joke, Missy’s amusement quickly segued into a scowl, as her less than gentle guards wrenched at her shoulder. Hissing as her delicate limb was abused, Missy wished she had the strength to be difficult, yet even in the peak of health, her latest regeneration was of a more delicate constitution, than many of her earlier ones. Still Missy had considered it a minor inconvenience; her female form had many more advantages, than it did disadvantages, but on occasion she did find herself pining for some of her former strength.

As it was she was powerless to resist, as she was dragged around; her bare feet scrabbling along the cold floor, the sensation of cool, smooth metal beneath her feet, and then whoosh of a doo,r and a sudden change in air pressure. They were up high…there was an echoey quality to the sound, and Missy didn’t need her blindfold removed, to know she was surrounded by Time Lords, lots of them, which could only mean…The senate chamber. 

The Mistress had suffered through enough Time Lord judicial proceedings in the past, to know, this was going to be long and boring; still it would give her enough time, to plan spectacular violent deaths, for a certain Dark Lord of Skaro, and the Sisterhood of Karn’s High Priestess, amongst others…oh and plan her escape…

She just had to decide whether or not to rescue The Doctor in the process. It might be worth the extra risk, just to see the look of confusion, and suppressed hope in his eyes, poor Doctor he never could quite let go of the hope she might one day turn good, the idiot.

The sudden banging of a staff somewhere in the cavernous hall summoned even her attention, even though Missy did her best to appear disaffected. What she wouldn’t give, to be able to dismissively examine her manicure right about now. Instead she settled for tilting her head back and to one side, as close to a position of nonchalance, as she could manage whilst bound and gagged. It would have been easier to carry off if it wasn’t so cold in here.

Shivering in The Doctors velvet coat, The Mistress found herself wishing for the dignity, her status should have afforded her. To stand before her fellow Time Lords so poorly attired, was so obvious an attempt to intimidate her, that The Mistress immediately resolved to squash all signs it might be working.

Let them play their childish games, no one controlled her, Missy could stand here stark naked, and still be their superior in cunning and intellect. Still it was a little on the cold side, and Missy found herself grateful for the velvety warmth of The Doctor’s jacket. It was a silly little thing, and she would never admit it out loud, but there was something reassuring about having The Doctor’s lingering scent in the air.

\---/---

Of all the people, The Doctor expected to be greeted by, when he arrived on Gallifrey, a rather irate General, Ramona or even Rassilion, somehow returned from his exile, his estranged brother Brax had not even been part of the top ten. Despite being the closest in age in the house of Lungbarrow, the two brothers had acted more like cousins, than true siblings. There could not have been two Time Lords more different, Theta had been more similar to Koschei as a boy, and considering how The Mistress had ended up…

Well The Doctor held out little hope, that all these years apart, would have brought him and his brother closer in personality.

“I thought you had died.” The Doctor couldn’t help it, the words were blurted out. “You were on the Cruciform…”

The experience of the last twenty four hours had left him feeling raw, like an exposed nerve, and the first thing to be shaved away, was his thin veneer of manners. If one of his human companions were here, The Doctor was sure he would have received a reprimanding glare, or perhaps an elbow to the ribs by now. Still humans weren’t Time Lords, and what would be considered rude, by human standards, would barely cause more than a raised eyebrow amongst Time Lords. 

“I survived.” Brax retorted equally blunt, his new blue eyes narrowing as he took in his elder brothers current regeneration, the wild curls and human style of dress was everything he had come to expect, and despair, from the most infamous scion of their house.

“You more than survived it seems.” The Doctor muttered, grey eyebrows furrowing in distaste, as his gaze fell on the robes that Brax was wearing, the markings of the High Council proudly displayed.

“Someone had to do something.” Brax retorted, his tone measured as befitted a proper Time Lord, but there was a tightening around his eyes, which belied his carefully controlled features…he was insulted. “Someone had to step up to help clear up the mess…”

“Gallifrey was a mess ,long before I was kidnapped, tortured and forcibly returned, all on the command of the very people who wore those robes!” The Doctor snapped, he knew he and Brax had never been close, but to see his own brother happily step into the vacuum, and consider it an honour.

Perhaps he had spent too long among humans, too long away from his own kind, long enough that he had forgotten just what Time Lords were really like. If Missy were here, The Doctor knew she would be sniggering…loudly.

“Whatever it doesn’t matter anymore; I should learn to stop expecting more. So what is it to be this time? I mean I don’t know how you are planning, on topping trapping me in my own confession dial, and having me kill myself, over, and over again, for billions of years…forcing me to teach at the academy perhaps? ”

“Are you quite finished having your little tantrum?” Brax questioned, raising his pale almost invisible eyebrow. “You were not brought here to be punished, but for your own protection.”

“My protection.” The Doctor scoffed, as if Brax had said something funny for the first time in his life, before the jovial expression slipped from his face as quickly as it had appeared, and his blue gaze turned accusatory. 

Turning on his heel, he paced the confines of the ante-room, his quick gaze taking in the locked doors, and the two armed guards blocking any attempt to leave. “I was doing just fine looking after myself, until you, and your fellow dunderheads sent the army after me. The only protection I need, is from my own people!”

“Davros is hunting you.” Brax replied, and The Doctor faltered in his pacing.

“I can handle Davros.” The Doctor insisted, swallowing down the bitter tang that lingered in his mouth.

“He’s not just hunting you.” Brax added, blue eyes smug, as The Doctor spun around, eyebrows furrowed. “Believe it or not, but we are only trying to help here Doctor.”

“Out of the goodness of your hearts no doubt and just what is this unsolicited help going to cost me?”

“Your presidency…” Brax began smugly, only to be cut off by The Doctor’s bark of laughter.

“Well no one can claim you are not a proper Time Lord Brax. You can have it, Omega knows I never wanted…”

“No Doctor, I am not asking you to give up your Presidency, I am asking you to do the job you took upon yourself, when you led a coup against Rassilion, and exiled him and High Council. I am asking you to lead.”

Stunned The Doctor staggered back, as if Brax had struck him. Him President of Gallifrey? His instincts screamed out against the very thought of it. It was everything The Doctor had run away from, and nothing that he wanted. “No…no…I…You cannot want me to be President Brax, I hate everything it represents, I would be a terrible leader.”

“I know.” Brax replied simply. “Yet the people will follow you, the army will follow you, and the rest of the Time Lords would have no choice but to fall in line. The High Council can carry out the actual duties of the President; you would just be the figurehead we need.”

“Oh…oh I see…” And The Doctor did, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. 

They needed him. Gallifryian society had always been led by the same families, it was staid but it was solid. Yet the Time War had changed things, many Time Lords had died, and in times of great change lesser houses had risen up to fill the vacuum. Then he had returned, and exiled the remaining old guard. There would have been a scrabble for power amongst the other houses, some succeeding and some losing out, and those that won were anxious to secure their position…using him.

“No…just no…no way.” The Doctor insisted, shaking his head. They could find another Time Lord to be their sacrificial lamb. “Find some other fool to be your puppet Brax, there is nothing I want less in the entire universe, and no scare mongering about Davros will make me change my mind.”

“Yes I told them that was what you would say.” Brax sighed, and for a moment he almost appeared apologetic. “So they decided to arrange a little incentive.”

Frowning deeply The Doctor could feel something shifting; something in the Timestream, that only those with the extra senses of a Time Lord could even discern a hint of. “Brax what incentive?”

“Accept the Presidency Doctor.” Brax urged his brother. “Only then will you have the power to stop it.”

“Stop what?” The Doctor demanded, striding over to his shorter sibling, and glaring down in his best end of the universe manner, yet Brax barely leant back, and did not quail in the slightest.

“The Mistress’s execution.”

\---/---


	12. Chapter 12

\---/--- 

This wasn’t a trial, it was a sentencing.

It had taken precisely 0.003 seconds for The Mistress to realise this, and another 0.005 seconds, for her to school her expression, not to show the surprise on her face, which for a Time Lady could feel like an eternity.

They had brought her home, only to murder her.

It made no sense on the surface of it. Her enemies were dead, or exiled, or both. So what if there was no prison on Gallifrey that could hold her. The only rules she had broken recently involved lesser species, and it wasn’t like the Time Lords cared about what happened to them. Execution was rarely used as a punishment in their society; each Time Lord life was rare, and precious, due to their long lifespans, and low reproductive rate. 

So someone had to be benefiting from this.

Narrowing her blue gaze, The Mistress surveyed the senate; it was depleted…that was a polite word for it. Battered, and pathetic also fit. Many of the platforms, that once housed representatives from the different academy’s, and noble houses, were sparsely populated. There were several completely empty.

It made no sense, she came from a noble house, there were so few of them left, that Rassilion knew how the Senate was even still functioning, and they still felt the need to kill her, for something so pathetic as killing a few humans? They should have kept her alive for her brains, and her bloodline, if nothing else. 

“Does the condemned have any last words?

Shrugging as elegantly as she could manage in her manacles, The Mistress rolled her eyes, as if bored with the entire proceedings. “Death is for other people Pet.” She drawled, savouring the sour expression from the presiding Judge at her flippant tone, and derogatory naming.

“What makes you think, that even if you succeed in killing me, that I will stay dead for long? Besides, I would have thought, with The Doctor telling Davros all about Gallifrey’s return, that you might have better things to do, than destroying your only hope of stopping them?”

That pronouncement had the impact that Missy hoped for. The Senate suddenly exploded in loud exclamations, of shock and debate. She doubted everyone here would believe her, but all Missy needed was to delay things. Besides, there was nothing better than causing chaos with the truth, she got the mayhem she so enjoyed, and she got to be all smug about it, when she was proven right.

“Order…Order…”

Yet it seemed the Senate was ignoring any command right now. The fear of another Dalek invasion, so close to Gallifrey’s release from the pocket universe, would have reopened up old arguments between factions that only the strong arm of Rassilion had been able to quash. The lack of a strong president, able to unite their people, had never been more obvious, and The Mistress couldn’t help but savour the rising sense of fear and disorder.

“ORDER….” The command punctuated, with the rapping on the ceremonial staff, echoed around the large chamber, and finally the dissent dropped to a bitter murmur.

“This meeting is to pass sentence on the accused, and not to allow ourselves to be side tracked! The High Council will deal with these unsubstantiated rumours.”

“Not so unsubstantiated.” Missy sneered, ignoring the protocol of the trial, and turning to address her fellow Time Lords. “Skaro is back, it is hidden behind a reflective matrix, but it is real. The Doctor and I had the pleasure of Davros’s hospitality; ask him if you doubt my word. Or did you not want the people to know their President had returned to them?”

If it were possible for a Time Lord, her judge looked like he was about to regenerate from sheer fury. “The Doctor’s position is irrelevant to these proceedings….”

“Now now that doesn’t sound very friendly.” A familiar voice cut the blustering judge off mid flow, and Missy preened, as The Doctor’s tall figure appeared. 

He was half hidden in the shadows, leaning against one of the senate boxes with an air of complete nonchalance, before suddenly leaping forward, his dexterous hands outstretched, as if in some vaudeville dance routine, all that was missing was a loud pronouncement of ta daa. “I mean my presence might be surplus to requirements, or even unwanted, but I have never been considered irrelevant before, not even by my enemies.”

“Doctor you have no authority here…”

“I’m your president, I would say that would give me the authority…”

“Your appointment as President was never ratified by the Senate!” The red faced judge pontificated from his post on high. “Your coup was never sanctioned.”

“Since when is a coup ever sanctioned?” The Doctor sniggered, his eyebrows emphasising his clear belief in Time Lord Stupidity. “Still if you need senate approval, it seems we have the Senate present, well what’s left of it, so please do go ahead and rubberstamp what you feel needs to be rubberstamped.”

“That is…there is no precedent…this is not…you cannot undermine the authority of the senate in this way…”

“I’m not undermining anything. You want a vote…well then let’s have a vote.” The Doctor called out to the room. “All these fine Time Lords and Ladies are here, let’s get it done. All those who recognise my Presidency raise your hand…any hand I’m not picky...” He added, eyebrows narrowed into furrows as he glanced around the chamber.

Hands slowly were raised in the air, and yet it was not an obvious majority.

“1…2…Davros is coming for you...” Missy called out, in her sing song tone that which she reserved for lesser species, and stupid Time Lords…well pretty much everyone fell into one of those categories. “3…4.. it’s going to be war… Five, six, no time for politics…”

“Yes thank you Mistress.” The Doctor barked in her direction, it wasn’t her message that he had a particular issue with, but rather the gleeful way she was broadcasting it. Death and destruction, of their own species, was not something to sing about.

Rolling her eyes at her Doctor’s double standards, Missy continued to hum to herself, whilst smiling beatifically at him, as The Doctor’s glare bored into her. Still her prompting had the desired effect; several more hands had joined the ayes, a majority of the chamber, albeit a slim one.

“So now we have the official part done.” The Doctor called out. “As your President, I am hereby commuting the death sentence passed on the Time Lady known as The Mistress.”

“You can’t…”

“Presidential code, sub section 9 paragraph 2. In the event of a planet wide crisis, the President has the right to co-opt any, and all citizens of Gallifrey, into any government directed service, over riding any other employment, or legal contract, or obligation.” The Doctor parroted the legal jargon Brax had supplied him with, for a moment relishing the look of stunned disbelief on the Judges face.

“Well I don’t know about you, but I would say the prospect of another Dalek attack constitutes a planet wide crisis.”

“You cannot let a murderer just go free.” The Judge blustered. “It makes a mockery of the entire judicial process.”

“Funny, how the deaths of other species are only considered murder, when not sanctioned by the High Council.” The Doctor sneered. “Beside I don’t recall saying she was pardoned.” He added.

Surprised, and annoyed that she was surprised, Missy’s own eyebrows gathered in a frown, her gaze boring into The Doctor’s cheek, and feeling the heat of her gaze, he turned to meet her glare, with one of those annoyingly calm smug expressions he wore, just before he ruined one her carefully crafted plans.

“The Mistress will be held securely, and conscripted into assisting with the defence of Gallifrey.”

“You have got to be joking!” The Judge spluttered, and for once Missy found herself wholly in agreement with him. 

There was not a jail on Gallifrey that could hold her, and there was not an argument in the galaxy strong enough, to compel her, to help her loathed brethren. Davros could burn Gallifrey, and Missy would be happy to sit back, and toast marshmallows on the ashes. The Doctor had to be bluffing, he was good at bluffing, and yet Missy felt the hairs on her neck prickle, as The Doctor’s smug expression faded.

“I assure you I am not joking.” The Doctor insisted, his gaze dark and foreboding. “In fact I guarantee that not only will The Mistress not escape, but she will cooperate entirely.”

“And when you fail to deliver on that promise, you will forfeit your presidency Doctor.” The Judge pontificated, and this time, it was his turn to be smug.

“Oh I will forfeit more than that. I offer my own life as guarantor.” The Doctor replied softly, and yet his words carried throughout the chamber. 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Missy could not believe what she was hearing, yet the way The Doctor’s eyes bore into her own, she knew he wasn’t lying, not this time. There would be no physical chains to bind her, no jail cell to contain her, no torture to persuade her, just the inexorable knowledge, that if she ran, her best friend would willingly go to his death as penance.

\---/---


	13. Chapter 13

\---/---

Armand’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, his breathing rattled in his lungs, but he didn’t dare stop, despite the burning in his chest that begged him to stop and breath. They would catch him if he did, and despite being tall for his age, Armand wasn’t a match for the three older boys.

A few minutes later ducking into a doorway, Armand glanced around, hoping that he had finally managed to lose his pursuers. God knows he was lost himself right now, with the washing strung up across the narrow streets, and the stench of excrement in the air, this was not a part of Paris that the young du Plessis would normally venture into it.

Biting his lip as he heard familiar voices, Armand cowered as much as he could, shrinking back against the shut door, and preying with all his might that they wouldn’t discover him. 

Armand had thought school would finally be his chance to make something of himself, yet along with the strict lessons, that for some reason he had excelled at, Armand had attracted the attentions of a bully, who from the first time he had laid eyes on him seemed to detest him.

“Come on Raoul, let’s get out of here, we’ll get the little swot after vespers.” 

“I am not leaving, until I teach that little shit a lesson, in deferring to his betters…”

“Claude is right Raoul, we can deal with him later, I don’t want to miss supper because…”

“Your stomach is already big enough Pierre, you could do with skipping a meal or two, besides we can’t do this back at the school, the little shit’s brother will step in, and I want time to teach him a real lesson.”

“Well I am not heading down there, it looks like a thieves den…Come on Claude, I am not getting robbed because Raoul’s being stubborn.”

“Fine run off you little scaredy cats. I’ll deal with the little bastard all by myself.” Raoul’s contempt was clear, and the scurrying off of the other’s footsteps had Armand stifling a sigh of relief.

Yet that relief was short lived, as he heard his bully call out.

“I know you’re here little swot. You really are making it worse for yourself you know. It was bad enough showing me up in front of Monsieur, but then to run instead of taking your punishment, making me fucking chase you over half of Paris. I might even miss supper because of you. If you come out now, I might only beat you black and blue.”

Armand couldn’t move. He knew he should, there was only Raoul now to deal with, and he might be able to lose him. Yet even if he escaped now, the older boy would catch him alone at some point, there were far too many little nooks at their school, where a boy could be ambushed, not even the library was the safe haven it should be.

Hands scrabbled around, for anything that he might use to defend himself, and Armand’s fingers closed on a lump of stone or brick. He could throw that at Raoul if he discovered him, and then make a break for it. It was heavy, and Armand could just lift it with one hand, he would need two to throw it any distance.

“Ah there you are.”

Raoul’s sudden appearance startled Armand, and he fumbled with his plan, his throw poorly timed, and falling too short to put his pursuer in any real danger.

Laughing Raoul could only shake his head. “Oh was that supposed to scare me little swot?”

Making a break for it, Armand didn’t make it two steps, before a smack to the back of his head had him sprawled on the floor, face first.

“Fucking…little…shit…” Raoul hissed, punctuating each word with a kick to the younger boy. “You take what’s coming to you.”

Tears blurring his vision, Armand bit down on his bottom lip, drawing blood, but he refused to scream, he refused to give Raoul the satisfaction. He tried his best to crawl away, but a sharp boot to his ribs, had Armand curling up to protect himself.

“You know this could all be over if you just apologised to me.” Raoul gloated, bending down on one knee and grasping his victim by his hair, to force Armand to look at him. “Tell me how sorry you are, for being a fucking little know-it-all, bastard, mother shagger. Swear, you won’t so much as speak in class anymore.”

Shaking his head in refusal, Armand knew that more pain would be coming, the clenched fist to his nose had it cracking, and Armand couldn’t stop the cry of pain and surprise. 

“Cry all you like little baby mother shagger.” Raoul pouted. “Perhaps mummy will come and kiss it all better, and perhaps she can lift her skirts for me, just like she did to get you into school.”

“Do…”

“Oh are you finally going to apologise? Well since Mummy’s not here to give me a good shag, why don’t you use that smart mouth of yours for something useful? I’m sure that bastard brother Henri has trained you up by now, I bet you’re already a first rate little coc….”

“Don’t talk about my mother.” Armand hissed, Henri he didn’t bother to defend, his brother was a right bastard. 

“Oh, and I suppose you’re going to stop me little baby?”

Gritting his teeth, Armand felt a rage over take him, and somehow in that rage he felt a sudden sense of clarity descend, and he knew what he had to do.

Armand didn’t bother to answer verbally, his sudden head butt that collided with Raoul’s own nose, which broke with a satisfying crack. Then as the older boy cried out in surprise, Armand pounced, leaping at him like a savage animal and shoving him back; Raoul crumpled to the floor, and Armand followed.

Fists flew, small they may be, but rage fuelled them and made Armand stronger. Raoul spluttered as Armand’s fist smashed into his jaw, and he choked on the teeth, the younger boy had knocked loose. Gurgling on his own blood, Raoul tried to shift Armand from squashing his chest, yet Armand refused to be moved, and soon the lack of oxygen, and the rapid blows to his head caused the bully to faint.

At first, Armand didn’t notice when Raoul went limp beneath him, his rage still possessed him, but eventually, even the adrenaline of the fight ebbed away, and suddenly exhausted Armand stopped his attack.

It was only then, as he took in the blood over his hands, and the mess he had left of Raoul’s face, that the reality of what he had done suddenly sank back in, with terrible clarity. He had attacked the nephew, and current heir of the Comte de Comborn, a man of far higher standing than the remains of the du Plessis family. 

It wouldn’t matter that Raoul had attacked him first, the savagery with which Armand had retaliated, would destroy any future he had nurtured; at the very least the Comte would demand his expulsion.

Shaking, Armand staggered back away from the still unconscious Raoul, he made it as far as the alley wall, before sinking down into the piss and shit of the gutter. Raising his bloody hands to his face, Armand hid the frightened tears that sprung up, he couldn’t look at the unmoving body of the other boy, couldn’t bring himself to check if he was still alive.

“He’s not dead…more’s the pity…such a mess…” A sudden voice spoke, and Armand jumped up in fright, blue eyes widening in shock, as a woman stood across the alley from him, where she seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

“I didn’t mean to…I just…” Armand stuttered, cowering slightly as the strange woman simply stared at him, before smiling broadly. 

Yet there was something off about her expression, her smile almost mechanical and her eyes…such a bright blue, they viewed him a hungry manner, that reminded Armand of the witch in the fairy tales his nurse used to read them. 

“Of course you didn’t love, just like your Father…” She muttered cryptically, her smile shrinking, yet it looked more natural than her previous grin, almost wistful.

“You knew my father?” Armand questioned, his back straightening out, as he frowned up at this strange apparition. 

“Hmmm intimately.” She replied, her tone playfull, as if hiding a secret, before reaching into a pocket in her dress and removing a circular brass object, which she scowled down at. “Now is not the time to go into that, as much as I would prefer to just catch up, I’m afraid we have much to do.”

“Do?” Armand asked confused, until his gaze fell back on Raoul, who was starting to stir. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that love. I’ll take care of him for you.” The stranger insisted, her gaze almost gleeful, as it turned towards the barely sensate boy, who with a quick kick of her boot once more fell unconscious. 

“But we need to get you home first, you stay here any longer, and who knows what might happen to you. But you really can’t go back looking like that, one look at you, and they would know you’ve been fighting…Now where…ahh yess…”

Rummaging around in her pocket once more, Armand could only watch in disbelief as she retrieved a pot of something, and then a cloth of some sort, and then a flask…

“How did you…” Armand began, only to stop when the strange woman winked at him. Magic it had to be magic, she really was a witch. 

“Hush now love, I am not going to hurt you.” The stranger insisted, her blue eyes widening as they bore into his own, and perhaps it was the blows Raoul inflicted, or perhaps it was his own lack of options, but the longer he stared into those blue eyes, Armand found himself relaxing. Of course she wouldn’t hurt him.

“That’s a good boy, now come here. Drink this down, it will help with the pain.” 

Numbly Armand obeyed, without question, standing still as she wiped the blood from his face and hands with the damp cloth. He barely flinched, even as she dabbed cream from her pot over his cuts and bruises. It stung at first, then his skin felt warm, yet the blue gaze that bore into his own held him captive.

“Good, now that’s better, I can’t do anything about that nose I’m afraid, not under these conditions, but it shouldn’t swell up.” She added, her hand lingering on his cheek for a moment, brushing lightly across his cheek and up over his temple. Her smile fading slightly, her eyes almost sad for a moment, as Armand blinked as if waking from a dream, and pulled away from the intimate gesture.

“You should be running home now.”

“But what about…”

“I told you, I will take care of him.” She replied, and from the chilling smile that stretched across that angular face, Armand doubted Raoul would be getting the same gentle treatment, and that…didn’t bother him the way it probably should have.

“Just one word of advice, when you get back, tell them you got lost, that you never met up with your little friend. That you have no idea where he might be. Can you do that for me love?”

For a moment Armand wanted to ask what she intended to do with Raoul, but then he reconsidered. The witch was letting him go…he should go, before she changed her mind.

Nodding he backed away carefully, even though every instinct in him was telling him to run now. Yet there was something else that caused him to pause…curiosity.

“Thank you.” He offered, not waiting to gain her response, before the desire to flee finally overtook him.

\---/---


	14. Chapter 14

\---/---

“What were you thinking?”

It was a fair question, and at least Brax had waited, until the guards had left them alone in the High Council chamber, to start berating him…well not entirely alone…The Doctor nervously glanced over to the windows, where The Mistress stood, gazing out over the Capital, and feigning disinterest in their conversation, but she was listening. The Doctor knew she had to be listening, and so he had to choose his next words carefully.

“I was thinking, if I am going to be President, then it will be on my terms, and not as anyone’s puppet Brax.”The Doctor replied calmly, for once it was usually perfect Time Lord Brother, who looked the wild, rebellious one.

“You actually be President?” Brax scoffed. “You wouldn’t last a day, before you got bored, and ran away. Besides you don’t have the political support.”

“I just won the vote didn’t I?” The Doctor retorted. “If that isn’t…”

“Please, most of those votes were already bought, and paid for before you stepped foot in the Senate Chamber. In fact your performance probably lost you votes.”Brax sneered. “Your ego, might cloud your brain sufficiently, to believe that any sane Time Lord would follow you out of any sense of choice, but if it wasn’t for the threat of war…”

“Well lucky for me that Davros is so dependable.” The Doctor interjected, earning him a snort from the so far silent observer by the window, and a scowl from his brother.

“Look Brax you got what you wanted, I am President, and you are right I don’t enjoy the politics, so I really don’t want to bother with all the council meetings. I really don’t understand why you are so cross?”

“You….” 

For a moment The Doctor was convinced his brother might actually have a heart attack, not that it was possible for a Time Lord, but the influence of his time spent on Earth suddenly made the comparison apt.

“You…Her…” Brax finally managed to inarticulately gesture towards The Mistress, who now she was finally the centre of attention, turned back to the room, her feigned interest in the view dispelled with.

“Poor little me?” Missy asked innocently, shooting The Doctor a sly glance from the corner of her eye, and catching the twitch of a smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth…The two of them tormenting Brax, it was almost like old times.

“Her freedom was never part of the deal, only her life.” Brax insisted, his gaze displaying unusual hatred, when it locked with Missy’s, and she couldn’t help but be surprised.

Oh when they were younger Brax hadn’t liked her. 

Koschei had the potential to be everything that Brax had always wanted, and yet could never quite achieve. From a noble house, of high standing, a high political position could have been hers effortlessly, if The Mistress had any inclination to play the boring minutia of Galifrayian politics. Her intelligence, and ability in any field she turned her hand to, could have seen her as Chancellor of any one of the Chapters, or Academys she chose to dedicate herself to. Yet much like The Doctor, The Mistress had chosen to throw all of this away, albeit for power of a different kind. 

Oh and the worst crime of all, she had made The Doctor love her…

After all why should he bother with his duller, slower, boring, younger brother when he had Koschei as his best friend?

“Still sulking because we wouldn’t let you play Brax?” Missy teased, her teeth showing as she grinned widely. 

“Missy don’t.” The Doctor asked, the request to not bait his brother all too clear, and for once The Mistress chose to indulge that request.

Shrugging as if she no longer cared to continue, Missy instead took to pacing the room, yet she didn’t miss The Doctor’s surprised and grateful expression…just a softening around the eyes, and the smoothing out a little of the gathered eyebrows, but it was enough of a difference for her to notice. Not that it mattered to her, if The Doctor was grateful, or not, The Mistress merely needed to keep him off guard. Let him think that Brax, was the only one really bothered by his little deal changer.

“Brax we are going to need her.” The Doctor insisted. “Davros will come here and we need our best minds…”

“I would have thought our best minds, would have a requirement of sanity!” Brax snapped back, and yet at The Doctor’s deepening scowl he bit back on any further insults, choosing to withdraw to limit the political damage to his own position. 

“Fine Doctor on your own head be it, but I cannot understand, how you think you can possible trust her to cooperate.”

As the door shut behind him Missy spoke, her voice low, but with a certain amount of bite to it.

“He isn’t wrong Doctor, how can you possibly trust me to cooperate?”

Sighing The Doctor chose to sink down into one of the council chairs, instead of answering her question directly. His head resting back against the tall back of the chair, he allowed his eyes to drift closed.

“I do not know what is more insulting, you putting me in that position back in the Senate, or ignoring me when I am talking to you?”

Wearily opening one eye, The Doctor wished he had more time to collect his thoughts, his head was spinning from the day’s events, and Missy wanted to talk about this now, expecting him to have a decent answer, to explain himself, and yet The Doctor was struggling to be able to articulate. He just had a gut feeling, that told him to act the way he did, a hunch, and knowing, that despite everything bad between them, The Mistress would not pay for her escape with his life.

“I am waiting Doctor.” The Mistress commanded, her annoyance growing, when instead of explaining himself, and spouting off some nonsense about the greater good, and knowing there was still some of the old Koschei inside of her still, The Doctor simply looked at her.

“What do you want me to say?” The Doctor shrugged, the movement slow and laboriously like it pained him to move.

“I want you to tell me, what makes you so damn certain, I won’t take the first opportunity to slip away, steal a Tardis and leave you to your just desserts?” Missy hissed, blue eyes flashing with growing anger, as The Doctor remained firmly mute on the subject.

“Dammit you are going to…”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?” Missy spluttered. In all their lives The Doctor had always had an answer for everything, words were his primary weapon, and for him to refuse to even indulge her with an answer, left her both confused and furious.

“Just no….No I don’t intend to explain myself, and No I don’t think you are going to leave.”

The surge of violent desire, to smack that calm resolute expression from The Doctor’s face, bubbled up and Missy had to dig her fingernails into her palms, to stifle the impulse. 

What made her so mad, other than the disrespect of ignoring, her, of all people, was the fact he was right. She wouldn’t leave…

She could do, she doubted anyone would seriously try to prevent her, but she wouldn’t even attempt it, despite the part of her that wanted to punish The Doctor for his insolence. 

In the convoluted rules of the game they played, it would mean The Doctor would win, he would die and she would live, but he would still win, and the thought of having to go on for eternity alone, without her Doctor, and live with the knowledge that he had won their final match. No…no she was not going to give him the satisfaction…yet if she played along, he won that way too…

Sighing as he watched The Mistress fight some internal war, The Doctor pushed himself out of his chair and approached her slowly. She might still take out her frustration on him physically, and despite her smaller stature, The Doctor knew an angry Mistress was still capable of doing him harm. Settling for resting his hands on her shoulders, The Doctor tensed a little, as he caught the buzz of her thoughts, leaking through her mental shields, he was out of practice at being around other telepaths, and just being on Gallifrey was already giving him a headache.

“Help me.” The Doctor pleaded, no longer caring to try and act strong and in control, like he had around Brax. 

Davros was coming, and it was his fault. He had told them about Gallifrey’s resurrection, and their people would be sitting ducks, unless they did something to stop it; something other than genocide, or losing Gallifrey to another pocket universe. Surely if they worked together on this, then there had to be a solution.

“You’re the most brilliant mind I’ve ever encountered in the whole wide universe; help me save our people Missy.”

Flattery…he honestly thought flattery would move her?

Yet even so The Mistress felt herself preen a little, as The Doctor continued to stare down at her with such hope and desperation. None of his little human pets could do this, when it really came down to the things that mattered to him, they were gone and she was here…until…until he no longer needed her…

“And then what?” Missy asked, tilting her head to one side, as her gaze bore up into The Doctors. “I came to your aid once before, old friend. I put my life on the line to save yours, and what did I get in repayment for that? A prison cell, torture and a dead child…”

“Missy.” The Doctor’s voice broke a little as she pulled away from him, and the sudden absence of her mental buzz left him reeling. 

He wanted to be able to argue that leaving her on Skaro was just punishment for her crime, only the memory was fuzzy, and The Doctor wasn’t sure anymore…no he unfortunately was sure, even if he didn’t want to admit, that he had been wrong.

“Please do not punish Gallifrey for my mistakes.” The Doctor pleaded, even though he knew such appeals would not move The Mistress. 

Even the most hardened Judoon would have a care for their own species, but The Mistress had been so abused by her own people, even The Doctor couldn’t find an argument, as to why she should have any lingering loyalty to them now.

“Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” The Doctor finally conceded, even though the words felt like a death sentence to his soul. 

Conquer the universe Mr President, had been The Mistress’s last request of him, and The Doctor dreaded having to finally obey her command.

“Anything I want?” At first Missy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. After all these years, was she finally going to get what she had been striving for?

“I won’t kill for you.” The Doctor clarified, that was the one thing he couldn’t be compelled to do, not even for Gallifrey.

Even without killing, that left a lot of leeway for her to play with, and The Mistress savoured the growing expression of fear and panic on The Doctor’s face, as she sashayed back to him. 

“Anything I want?” She repeated teasingly, fingers reaching out and plucking at The Doctors buttoned shirt. “Even you?”

“You could have had me any time, if that was what you really wanted.” The Doctor replied neutrally. “How many times did I ask you to travel me? You turned me down every time…”

“It was always on your terms Dear.” Missy retorted, the endearment wielded like a rapier, intent on piercing him to the quick. “Always as a punishment or an inducement to change, to willingly lobotomise myself, to suit your morals and not mine. You never just asked me to come along, just as me with no strings attached; and the one time I offered, you preferred to execute me instead.”

Was it really that simple? The Doctor couldn’t believe it could be that simple. All these years and fights, and could it all have been avoided…

“The pets would have to have gone though.” Missy continued, amused to the core, as The Doctor seemed to be beating himself up, more thoroughly than she had managed in centuries. “I really cannot stand the stink of them.”

“They were my friends.” The Doctor roused himself finally, relieved that something familiar was showing itself.

“They were mayflies Doctor you cannot be friends with mayflies.” Missy chastened him, her fingers trailing down, jumping from one button to the next, until The Doctor caught her hand and held it against his chest.

“Is that all it will take, the two of us travelling together, no one else?”

At the sound of disbelief in his voice, Missy couldn’t help but smile, her smirk broadening out until she was grinning almost manically. “Oh no Love not alone, if you want two favours from me, I expect two from you. For not running away and getting you killed in my place, I expect a lifetime riders pass in your Tardis and for helping you save Gallifrey….”

Missy paused, savouring the scent of panic and the way The Doctor’s hearts began to speed under her palm. Leaning in, she breathed in the heady cocktail that was The Doctor’s fear, indulging in a passing whim, she pressed herself up onto her toes and brushed her lips lightly across The Doctors, before whispering so softly against his mouth. “You are going to bring our child back from the dead.”

\---/---


	15. Chapter 15

\---/---

He was finally going home. It had been four long years, and the young naive scholar that had left Poitier all those years ago, was now a gangly adolescent. Tall for his age, and with the beginning of whiskers on his chin, Armand was almost a man grown, and it was time to shed the follies of youth, and think long and hard about his future instead. 

Leaning back in the carriage Armand winced at the cramped accommodations, even as he savoured the more sweetly fragranced country air; it certainly beat the stink of Paris. It had been too long since he had returned to his family estate, school had managed to fill his time, and Armand had certainly excelled in his studies. Well he had, after that unfortunate bullying problem had ceased, after his first year. 

Fear it seemed was as powerful a motivator as greed, and Armand had taken advantage of that mystique, that had surrounded him in his peers mind. After all a young boy couldn’t possibly have done that sort of damage to Raoul, and even now Armand shivered at the memory. It should have terrified him, when a desiccated version of his bully had been returned to the collage. His less than brilliant mind shattered, leaving Raoul, capable of little more than dribbling, or shitting himself. Still despite knowing it was impossible, there were many of his peers, including his former bullies, who now chose to look the other way, when Armand excelled in class. 

There was little he struggled with academically, once he applied himself to learning it, and his tutors were already beginning to excitedly twitter, about different potential careers for him. His Uncle was eager for Armand to follow him into the law; God knows their family could do with all the legal assistance it could get right now.

God damn his brother Henri and his scheming. Still, Armand did have to appreciate, that his brother’s approach to dealing with his father’s debt, was innovative. Declaring himself not the heir, but another creditor of the estate, had freed Henri from paying off the large outstanding debt, out of his inheritance, and being the largest creditor he was entitled to the choicest picks of the property, before it was handed over, or sold off to pay the other creditors… And if there was not enough left to pay them all, well Henri was no longer liable for it.

Yet whilst this was best for Henri, it was terrible for the rest of the du Plessis family. Entitled to nothing from their father’s estate his brother, sisters and mother were now dependent upon their Mother’s recovered dowry portion, and whatever pittance Henri cared to dole out in allowance. And generosity was not something, their brother was known for. 

After next week they could no longer even call their childhood home their own, as Henri had chosen to sell the unprofitable old estate, and hold on some smaller, more productive portions of land instead. Armand had been finally recalled from school, to select what few of his childhood possessions he cared to retain. 

Yet as sad as he would be to see his family home sold, Armand was happy for any excuse to return. It had been too long since he had seen his sisters and Mother; his oldest sister had even married in his absence, even if that marriage had only resulted in an early widowhood, and no offspring. Still it was Mama, little Nicole and of course Clara, that Armand was most anxious to see. They had written and Mama had even visited him in Paris, when she travelled to visit with her brother over her legal difficulties. Nonetheless a visit was not the same as being home with his family, and his best friend. 

Clara…Armand squirmed a little in his seat, as a blush coloured his cheeks, at just the thought of the pretty brunette. 

The feelings that whilst a boy had so confused him, now began to make sense. The first time he awoke in his dormitory, the sheets sticking to his thigh, after a dream in which his childhood friend featured prominently, Armand had known his feelings for her ran far deeper than friendship, even than family. He had been jealous of the stable boy for trying to take his friend away, because Clara was his. 

Or she was going to be…Armand had a plan…

He was a third son; he was needed neither as heir, nor to take the family bishopric. What had once felt like a curse was really an unexpected blessing in disguise. He just needed to establish himself with his own income. The law would have been his preference, unlike the church, lawyers were still permitted to marry and father children…well legitimate children. Yet the law would take time to establish himself sufficiently, enough to provide for a wife and any dependants, he would be reliant upon his Uncle’s patronage, and although his Uncle was not from the nobility himself, he was still sufficiently upwardly mobile, that marriage to a servant would not be tolerated. 

So the army it was then. 

Armand was almost old enough to try for a commission, and he had charmed, and impressed enough of his school friends’ fathers over the years, that he was certain he would be accepted into one of their commands, if he applied. The army would only be the first step, a few years, and he could have enough capital saved to move into another less dangerous profession. Yet in the meantime it would be sufficient, an officer’s commission meant he could bring a wife with him…if she accepted him…if she even thought of him that way?

Pushing away those doubts, Armand raked his hands nervously through his hair. It was getting too long, and the blasted curls that tormented him, uniquely in their family, made him appear younger than he wanted to look. No matter how fashionable they might be in Paris, he would have to have them cut, if he wanted to persuade an Army Commander he was old enough for a commission. 

Armand had little hope that even short hair would help with his appearance. He was distinctive, if not exactly handsome. Awkwardly tall, and expecting to grow even taller, Armand already stood out amongst his peers. His nose appeared aristocratic, but in his thin long face it dominated his features, his attempt at a beard was meant to try and bring some balance to his face. His eyes were striking though, a bright blue that stood out against his pale complexion.

He would never been as handsome as his brothers, with their mixture of their parent’s blonde and dark brown looks. Yet he wasn’t ugly, and he was smarter than both of them together, and he was of noble blood…Clara would be a fool to refuse him…unless of course she was already in love with someone else. 

Armand wasn’t sure what he would do then. The gentleman in him, told him he should wish her well, and try to get over his feelings. Yet deep inside of him, another part of him, the same part that had been secretly awed by Raoul’s punishment, that part told him that Clara was his, and he would do anything to keep her.

\---/---

The first of Gallifrey’s suns was slowly rising on the horizon, and The Doctor watched as the planet’s rocky surface was slowly bathed in its dull red light. The star was dying, it had perhaps a few thousand years left to it, but considering they were hiding Gallifrey, at the end of the universe, that was hardly surprising.

Still it was almost possible to convince himself that nothing had changed, at least from the capital. 

The area around it had always been desolate and rocky; the drylands produced nothing of intrinsic worth. The Capital had only grown up here, due to the high prevalence of temporal fissures that Omega, Rassilion and The Other had gathered to study. It had become the academic centre of their world, and the government had formed naturally around it.

That and it gave the Time Lords an excuse to isolate themselves from the rest of the populous. Forfend that they might have to concern themselves with the needs of ordinary Gallifreyans, whose focus on farming, and trade, and singular lived existence, provided the foot soldiers for the army.

That was the one thing The Doctor intended to change, other than protecting all his people from Davros, and another Dalek invasion. He could use his position, to try and give the majority of the population a say in their government…or at least he could try. And then along with that miracle, he could somehow resurrect a child, that wasn’t dead.

Leaning back against the annoyingly rigid, high backed council chair, The Doctor longed for his leather wingback chair. Perhaps he could have a word with Brax, about having it moved from his Tardis to here…if nothing else it would be worth the flustered expression on his brother’s face, when he deigned to lead council meetings from it.

The sun was almost fully up now, and The Doctor found himself wondering, if the long red grasses had regrown on the continent of Wild Endeavour, or the silver leaved trees on the twin mountains? He doubted he would get the time to check for himself, and The Doctor felt a pang in his hearts. When he had imagined returning to Gallifrey, it had been to those wild fields, and the mountainside of his youth, not the damn Capital.

“Glaring at it, won’t make it go away you know love.”

Starting in surprise, The Doctor’s grip tightened on the arms of the uncomfortable chair, before he forced them to relax. Despite their current truce, centuries of conflict had caused him to develop, a rather healthy fear of The Mistress creeping up on him. Even now he doubted he could comfortably step outside, on to the viewing platform, with her about….falling to one’s death, left a heathy appreciation of heights, and Missy had already shown a proclivity for such stunts…The Doctor doubted, he would ever willingly try Skydiving again.

“Hmm. it’s just not the same view without Pazithi Gallifreya.” Missy drawled, as she sashayed over to the window, stretching out languidly, like the feline she had once almost become, loose shower damp curls swinging against her back. “Still nothing lasts forever, not even Gallifrey….hmm unless your late night brooding gave you any new ideas.”

“I was not brooding, and besides what else could I do, you stole the bed?” The Doctor finally replied, his voice scratchy from lack of use.

“It’s a big bed, you could have joined me.” Missy countered, admiring the scenery for a little longer, it really was quite dull without the glinting copper-coloured moon. 

Turning back to catch The Doctor still scowling, only this time at her, Missy sighed. “Honestly you act like such a blushing virgin sometimes love, we don’t even have to have sex you know, we can just sleep together instead.”

“I am…stop calling me that…all those endearments…just stop them…I know you don’t mean them and…”

“Well that’s rather presumptuous of you Mr President, already telling a mere underling what I think, and feel.” Missy cut in, her blue eyes glinting in warning. “It’s a slippery slope Doctor, from President to Tyrant, I would be careful where I tread.”

Blushing slightly as her accusation hit home, The Doctor conceded her point with a shrug. Unable to meet her gaze, The Doctor’s gaze drifted down to her chin, and then…

“Where did you get that robe?”

Shrugging innocently, Missy bit down on her lip to stifle her smirk, before replying. “It was in the wardrobe, and I couldn’t exactly keep walking around in my underwear, no matter how much you seemed to enjoy it.”

“I didn’t…” The Doctor began to protest his innocence, before giving up on the argument, it was pointless, and a change of subject, which Missy had done deliberately to distract him. “You can’t wear that and you know it Missy, so take it off.”

Rolling her eyes The Mistress turned her back on The Doctor, her fingers trailing down over the ornate metallic embroidery of the official Presidential robe. As a child she had dreamed of one day wearing this, at her own inauguration as Gallifrey’s President. Well that dream would never come to pass, but Missy couldn’t pass up the chance to try it on, when she discovered it just hanging there. 

In truth it was heavy, and a little itchy, and it smelt musty…hell it probably smelt of Rassilion himself, and Missy suppressed a shiver at that thought…she might have to take another shower. Still she was not a serf to be commanded; she hadn’t elected The Doctor president after all, and he had already made more than enough decisions on her behalf recently.

“Nope.” She replied, popping the word flippantly.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, The Doctor could already feel a Mistress related headache coming on. “Please I am asking nicely. I will get you some new clothes, hell you can take your pick from my wardrobe, to tide you over, if you prefer, but I cannot let you swan about here wearing that, and you know it. My authority here is precarious at best, and I already stretched my Senate support, in getting you released into my custody…I cannot permit you to further undermine my position, by wearing that, where people could see you.”

“That is your problem love.” Missy retorted, whilst picking at an imaginary piece of lint, on her newly claimed robes. “I never asked for your help, you made that deal because you know you owe me after Skaro, and you felt all guilty swanning about the galaxy, doing god knows what, whilst I was tortured, by YOUR arch-enemy.” She added with a pout. 

“You probably found yourself a new human to swan about with, whilst I screamed for mercy, and left both me, and our child to die, out of some twisted sense of justice…Besides I left the ceremonial collar for you, damn thing weighs a tonne.”

Gritting his teeth, The Doctor swallowed down his reply. There was no arguing with her, there never had been. Even as a child, Koschei could emotionally twist him like a pretzel, and The Doctor was sick of having his feelings toyed with.

Pushing himself out of his chair, The Doctor stalked over to her, his anger growing as he caught sight of her taunting, smirking reflection. “Take…It…Off.” He punctuated his last command, by roughly gripping the high collar of the ceremonial robe, and pulling at it sharply.

The ancient material had little chance against Time Lord strength, especially an angry Time Lord, not caring to restrain himself.

At first it was the sound of ripping fabric that had The Doctor horrified. He hadn’t meant to…Yet it was the reflected image that really caused him to freeze. The Mistress wasn’t wearing anything under the robe…well not the bits that he could see, and he could now see quite a bit.

It was a ridiculously startling revelation…she was female now…something that The Doctor had known, at least in theory, Time Lord gender was rather fluid and it barely mattered in any case. Still mentally, he had adjusted immediately to the change, yet it seemed it had taken the rest of him rather longer to catch up. Oh he had had the dawning of this knowledge on Karn, yet his concern for The Mistress’s imminent death, had stopped any exploration of this awareness, before it could really develop.

Now he could see the curve of her breast, the dark pink of her nipples, that long neck that flared out into delicate shoulders…He could smell her…even over the mustiness of the old robe…damp, dark curls cascaded now over those pale, fine boned shoulders, that The Doctor suddenly had a growing undeniable urge to bite down on…to mark that pretty pale skin…

“No.” The command was absolute, and some part of The Doctor’s brain recognised that…this was The Mistress, and she must be obeyed.

Shaking off the stupor, The Doctor shut his open mouth with a sudden snap, his teeth rattling a little from the force of it. He was surprised at himself…surprised and increasingly horrified at what he had been about to do. It wasn’t done…to mark…not like that…and certainly not there.

Besides it wasn’t as though he even particularly liked sex in this body. River had had to really coax him, and it had been something that The Doctor had felt obliged to try, and so it had happened less and less, over their twenty four years together. So why now, why her and like that? 

The shame of it was almost overwhelming, and dropping his grip on the ruined robe, The Doctor backed away until his back hit the edge of the council table. His panic only growing, as The Mistress slowly turned to face him, her attempt to hold the robe together, doing little to hide her form from him, yet it was the furious expression on her face that really held his attention.

“How dare you.” Missy demanded, even as the urge to slap him across the face, bubbled up inside her. 

She had thought it amusing at first, his struck dumb expression, and she hadn’t given two figs for the scratchy robe, but when he had dared to presume to brand her like some common bed slave. Like she was nothing, but something to be used, and shamed in that way. “I am a Time Lady, I am your equal, I will never be your possession.”

“I didn’t mean…Mistress forgive me.” The Doctor insisted, his head bowed in shame, as he struggled to gather the tattered threads of his dignity, and regain control of the situation, and himself. “You are right, I forgot myself.”

Moderately appeased by the full use of her chosen name, and The Doctor’s genuine contriteness, it was a rare occasion when he admitted she was right about anything; Missy pulled the robe tighter around herself. As much as she would normally, want to keep punishing him for such an insult, the memory of his breath against her bare skin, and the way she almost failed to command The Doctor to stop, until it was too late, were not ones she wished to dwell on. “Fine then, we won’t ever mention it again.”

Surprised at being let off so easily, The Doctor could only nod his agreement, yet it left them at an awkward impasse. They might not ever mention it again, but right now The Doctor was struggling to think of anything else, and judging by the way Missy was avoiding his gaze, it seemed so was she.

“If it’s just sex…” Missy began, only for The Doctor suddenly wave his hands about, to fall stall her.

“No…Just No…” The Doctor insisted. He didn’t know what had been the trigger for such madness, but sex was not something he normally desired, not even from The Mistress. He honestly didn’t know what had come over him, whatever flush of desire he had momentarily felt, had already abated, and now he was just left feeling awkward.

“It’s not that you’re not…” The Doctor blustered, his hands making wild gestures that indicated at a womanly shape. “It’s all very nice, and I do like looking, but that’s really it for this body. Do we even have to talk about this, at all?”

Snorting in amusement, Missy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I do believe you protest too much love, why else would you want to…” She broke off, fingers trailing underneath her ripped collar, to brush against skin that was still goosebumped and sensitive.

It was so depraved, the very idea of it, it went against the fabric of their society, and represented the primitive culture that Rassilion had raised them out. Where the powerful would claim and mark the weak, their will bent telepathically to that of their master, female slaves forced to display the bloodied brand of the male that had claimed them to mate. Oh it was not the thought of controlling and bending others to her will that had Missy shivering, but the thought that The Doctor, would dare so much as to attempt to do so to her.

Watching Missy touch her own neck and shoulder, The Doctor tensed suddenly, the blood suddenly screaming in his veins. Oh…that was new…disturbingly new, and The Doctor suddenly felt like that dumbstruck teenager all over again, the one that had watched, as his best friend shucked off his trousers in the middle of the meadow of red grass, and began to touch himself. 

As The Doctor’s hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white with the pressure, Missy had to resist the urge to smirk. Not interested tosh. Still this was a particular kink The Mistress didn’t dare to push too far, well not without insisting The Doctor wear some sort of ball gag. She had no intention of actually letting him…

“Missy…” The Doctor warned her. “You need to stop.”

Smirking Missy withdrew her hand from her robes, her fingertips tapping lightly against her lips, as she considered her Doctor. It was a dangerous line she was walking, and yet she couldn’t resist baiting him just a little bit more. Her hips swaying slightly, Missy brushed past him deliberately, her fingertips trailing down his shirt, to caress him lightly through his trousers. She savoured The Doctor’s whimper, before suddenly withdrawing her hand, and enjoying his pained expression of disappointment. 

Then as a parting shot, she hissed with particular venom into his miserable face. “As your precious humans would say…Bite me.”

\---/---


	16. Chapter 16

\---/---

“Oh look it’s the bad penny.”

As greetings go it was hardly warm, but Armand had had worse from his eldest brother over the years, and sarcasm was easy to shrug off. His mother and baby sister had been eagerly waiting for him, when his coach had arrived, and their greeting had been warm and welcoming, only Clara’s absence had soured the moment, and Armand resolved to go searching about the house, to find her as soon as luncheon was over.

“Henri please.” Susanne du Plessis pleaded with her eldest, her children were getting too old for such sibling rivalry, and yet gone were the days, when her voice held any real sway in the family.

“Good day to you too Henri, you look well.” Armand replied lightly, as he took his place at the table, savouring his brother’s minute scowl, when he ignored his taunt. Nodding his greetings to his other elder siblings, Armand even managed a small smile for Francoise, still in her widow’s black.

“You look well brother…and so changed.” Francoise offered, marvelling at her little brother’s growth spurt, he virtually towered above her now.

“Yes a virtual beanpole aren’t you brother, I’m afraid a strong wind might snap you in half.” Henri sniggered, as he waved the gathering servants to enter. “Still at least you will be able to assist in packing away the books, from the top shelf in the library.”

“I would be happy to help in any way I can.” Armand replied calmly, refusing to rise to his brother’s bait. It was better to be a little on the slender side, than the slight thickening at the middle, Henri was already developing. 

Still despite the increase in weight, his eldest brother had developed into a handsome man, with their father’s blond hair, and their mother’s dark brown eyes, rumour had it he was already on the hunt for a wealthy bride. Yet whomever Henri eventually married, Armand would pity them, despite his handsome appearance, his brother was a cold unfeeling bastard. He would have more interest in managing his wife’s dowry, than her happiness. Armand doubted Henri had ever had a warm blooded thought in his entire life. 

The servants then proceeded to bring in the food, and Armand brightened, when one particular small brunette appeared carrying the wine. Eager to catch her eye, Armand didn’t even realise when Alphonse began to speak the lords blessing, quickly ducking his head when he realised he was the only one with his head unbowed. Yet Henri’s smirk implied, his eldest brother had caught his faux pas.

Unable to completely control his embarrassed blush, Armand forced his eyes shut, pushing aside the desire to stab Henri with the soon to be sold silverware, and then wincing as Alphonse stumbled over a relatively simple blessing. It seemed that, despite his recent spell in a monastery, to continue his ecclesiastical training, his middle brother’s Latin, still needed improvement. Thank the heavens, that at eighteen, Alphonse was still years away from being old enough, to be invested with the family bishopric. Plenty of time to work on those skills, that were essential to the position.

Finally prayers were over, and the family could eat. Armand’s stomach gave a relieved growl; he literally couldn’t get enough to eat some days, his uncle teased that was why he was growing so tall, and that he should be careful, lest it eventually turn to fat. Still Armand helped himself liberally to the food, he was hardly at risk of running to fat just yet, as he was mostly elbows and knees at the moment. Yet it was the wine that particularly held his interest today, or more to the point the silent servant, who was circling the table, pouring wine into each family member’s goblet in turn.

When she reached Armand, he glanced up and caught her gaze, his stomach knotting as Clara’s gaze softened slightly, and she returned his smile with a small nod of acknowledgement. Yet instead of lingering by his side, as Armand hoped she might, Clara glanced about, before returning to her place by the wall, ready to serve when needed, but otherwise remaining as invisible as possible.

Frowning Armand pondered his friend’s change in circumstance. From nursemaid, to serving at table, it was a demotion, if Armand understood the servant hierarchy correctly, and Armand couldn’t help but worry for his friend, and her family, who were once so dependent upon her salary to survive. 

Still she appeared well, her cheeks full, and her dark eyes bright, and yet there was something almost subdued about her. 

Perhaps it was just, that she appeared grown up all of a sudden? The Clara Armand had carried around in his head, had been a girl, just shy of her fifteenth birthday, on the cusp of womanhood, and yet still with her childhood gaiety. The woman in front of him, suddenly seemed so changed, and mature. It tightened the knot in Armand’s stomach.

He must seem so young to her. Still a boy, unable to grow proper whiskers, and for the first time Armand seriously doubted she would accept his suit. 

Still he had to try. Armand knew his future happiness, hinged on persuading his old friend to accept him. Besides he would grow up quickly enough, in a year or twos time the difference between them would not be so obvious, and Armand was certain, that whatever childish affection Clara had once held for him, would quickly turn to love. 

He couldn’t fail, and perhaps…he couldn’t help but think it. It was a cold, harsh, logical voice in his head that pointed it out, and for a moment Armand struggled with the knowledge, before grudgingly accepting it, as he couldn’t un-think it. Perhaps Clara’s change in circumstances, could actually aid him in his quest?

\---/---

“….the damage to the infrastructure was extensive. However we were able to…”

The Doctor hated that he could still smell her. Even over all the competing scents in the room, a room Missy wasn’t even in at present. That had been a step to far, Brax had turned that dangerous purple colour again, so The Doctor had relented. Besides he would tell her anything important later, that was, if The Doctor was able to pay attention.

A Time Lord’s sense of smell was powerful, when it came to finding their own it was akin to the best hunting dogs to be found on Earth, and there were times in his adventures, when that that had proven useful. Yet right now, The Doctor found himself wishing for a cold, or nose plugs, whatever it took. He needed to be able to concentrate, and it seemed, even when she didn’t do it intentionally, Missy was still a menace. 

Although knowing her, Missy probably had found a way to do this deliberately, just to torture him. She was probably back in ‘his bedroom’, right now sniggering like some demented idiot, and planning yet more ways to make his life hell, on top of depriving him of proper rest. The Doctor was almost convinced that she had staged that altercation this morning, she knew just what buttons to press, and he having barely rested, had walked into whatever trap she had set, like the idiot she accused him of being. Well no longer, The Doctor was determined, that whatever little game The Mistress was playing, it ended now. They had more important things to focus on.

Forcing his attention back to the discussion in front of him, The Doctor tried not to slouch, roll his eyes, or sigh…too loudly. 

“…with the army’s assistance, we were able to divert the river around the promontory here, and generate…”

Being president meant he was supposed to set an example apparently, or so Brax droned on, and on, and on at him, before The Doctor had even been allowed, to meet with the other members of his so called council. Apparently due to his extended absence from Gallifrey, The Doctor required ‘educating’ about its current circumstances. 

Yet he really hadn’t needed a daylong conference, to tell him what one glance at the nervous faces, as they entered had imparted. They were scared. 

Time Lords showing emotion, there was no greater intelligence to glean from their detailed reports. They were scared, no one here wanted war, The Doctor was certain of that, and if they already had a viable solution, they wouldn’t have needed to trap him. 

His people’s traditional style of government, was perfect for maintaining the status quo, for strangling innovation, and change in its cradle. It was the reason his frustrated, younger self had fled this planet, all those years ago….Well one of the reasons. Playing by the rules had gotten him nowhere, but shuffled off into a job he loathed, and labelled a dangerous thinker, who needed to be silenced. 

The irony did not escape him, that it was then in times of crisis, that the Time Lords supposed strength, became their Achilles heel. Their committees and endless rounds of legislation did not make for decisive decision making, and in those times the panicking council would look for a saviour. 

Why the hell else, would anyone in their right mind resurrect Rassilion? 

The Time lord was a legend, but he was also a relic. The universe he had inhabited, where few species had evolved beyond the primordial, was so different than the vibrant universe The Doctor had been privileged to travel. Burn and waste tactics were acceptable, when there was little to no collateral damage, but Rassilion hadn’t cared to update his strategy; the rest of the universe was still pond scum to him, what did it matter if it burnt, as long as the Time Lords survived?

“This isn’t going to work.” The Doctor spoke, his voice calm and low, and yet it carried across the room, causing the Chancellor from the Engineering Academy to stop, mid pontification.

“ urghh…I…I assure you Doctor the generation of hydro fuel is…”

Holding up his hand. so as to stop the flustered academic mid flow. 

“None of this will stop the Daleks.” The Doctor replied simply. “Your efforts to try and resurrect Gallifrey are noble, but you are merely moving the deckchairs on the Titanic.” He added, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, as Time Lords around him looked confused at the human reference.

“What my dear Doctor, is trying, and failing to say, is you are all going to die.” A sudden voice piped up gleefully, causing the table to turn to the open council doors that had once been guarded, and now were suspiciously free of guards, and worryingly full of The Mistress.

Groaning The Doctor resisted the urge to bash his head against the hard chair back. This was the last thing he needed right now.

“Who let you in here?” Brax beat The Doctor to it, his brother puffed up like an angry rooster, as he stood from his chair, as a thankfully clothed Mistress sauntered into the council room like she owned it.

“I let myself in Brax, you should know by now, I never ask permission.”

“Guards…”

“Oh don’t bother, the poor dears they are just having a little nap.” Missy replied, the picture of innocence. “They’ll be up and about in an hour, or ten…” She added, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, and yet The Doctor couldn’t help but drawn to the gesture.

“This time you have gone too far Mistress, you should be rotting in away in a cell…”

“Oh yawn!” Missy mimed the act, as she sauntered across the room, all eyes on her, just the way she liked, as she preened, and winked, and all but skipped over to The Doctor’s position, at the head of the table. “Do stop being a bore Brax.”

Hopping up onto the table’s ornate surface, Missy crossed one ankle over the other, fussing with her long black skirt, before casting a glance back over her shoulder, to smirk at The Doctor. “Having fun love?” 

Fists tightening about the arms of his chair, The Doctor could feel the vein in his temple start throbbing away. He had asked her to behave, to stay away, whilst he tried to bring the Council round. He had also asked her to stop using those damn pet names for him; it was bad enough taunting him in private, but to do so in front of their peers. 

“Missy…” Her name, hissed in warning through his teeth, and yet all this warning garnered him was a pout, and a flirtation glint in Missy’s eyes.

This was what she wanted, to fluster him, to show her control over him in front of his council. The Doctor forced himself to take a deep breath, and forced out the building tension. He wouldn’t give The Mistress the satisfaction, two could play this game of hers, and The Doctor knew that deep down his election must be galling to her. That he had also trapped her on Gallifrey, was a wound that wouldn’t heal either, and despite her current nonchalance, The Doctor knew she hated his victory, and this was her way of making him pay dearly for it. 

“Perhaps you would care to share your suggestions with the council?” The Doctor countered calmly, it was a façade, and he knew from Missy’s tilting head, as her expression grew curious, that she knew it too. His oldest friend knew him too well, and yet he had her curious now.

“I doubt you’d like to hear any of my ideas, love.” Missy teased. “You wouldn’t have the stomach for them.”

“If they involve enslaving entire species, just to use them as cannon fodder against the Daleks, then no.” The Doctor chastised her.

“Shame. Still it’s a time like this, you could really do with a self-recruiting army…such a shame you blew one up…” The Mistress trilled, her tone playful, yet her gaze was cutting as she added. “Always were the short sighted one…”

“And I thought you were supposedly brilliant.” The Doctor hissed. “Are you telling me, that you are getting lazy, in your old age?”

Bristling as that barb hit home, Missy barely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at The Doctor. It was only the thought, that he could then accuse her, of being both a child, and in her dotage, that stopped her.

“You have to kill Davros.” Missy countered blankly, her attention now fixed on her scuffed nails. “He’s the reason the Daleks keep coming back. Without him, they are just mindless tin cans of bile rolling about the place.” 

Closing his open mouth with an audible click, The Doctor swallowed down the immediate refusal that had been on his tongue. Assassination was still murder, and he could never be the Time Lord that ordered a person’s death, and yet Missy was right, Davros was the reason The Daleks always managed to survive, like the universal cockroaches they were.

“You know I can’t condone murder Mistress.”

“You don’t have to pet.” Missy’s tone was saccharine. “You just have to look the other way, and not interfere for once. If it would help, we could even wipe your memory of this conversation, so you precious conscience won’t keep you awake at night? I’ll even offer to lead the squad myself, goodness knows I have reason enough to ensure it succeeds.”

“NO…Just no…no to both!” The Doctor insisted, as the fear prickled up his spine. The current gaps in his memory told him just how effective, and ineffective, the Time Lord memory wipes were. He might not remember, but he knew enough to know that there was something he should remember, and the not knowing was like a damn scab he couldn’t resist picking at.

“Look we need to figure out how to protect ourselves first, before we worry about going on the offensive.” Turning to the Chancellor of the Engineering Academy, The Doctor tried to put Missy suggestion out of his mind. “What condition is the planetary shield in?”

“Oh fine, and I suppose then we are going to invite Davros around for tea and cake and just talk it out?” Missy muttered, barely under her breath, as the Chancellor answered The Doctor’s question.

“It was put under considerable strain during our time in the pocket universe; we had to convert it to operate as an environmental shell around high density areas, to prevent the population from freezing to death. When we returned to this universe, we diverted our efforts into reclaiming the abandoned surface, and it has been left untouched…”

Nodding The Doctor calculated his options. “Missy I want you to examine the shield, work out what it would take to convert it back into a planetary defence.”

“I do believe, sitting in that chair must constrict the blood flow to your brain, my dear Doctor, if you honestly think you can give me orders, and that I will actually follow them.” The Mistress drawled.

“I don’t think, I know…we have a deal…” The Doctor replied, watching carefully as Missy’s head suddenly turned, her gaze boring into him intently, for any sign of prevarication.

“Do we?” Missy couldn’t help but question, The Doctor had all but ignored the conditions she had set for her cooperation. The two of them travelling in the Tardis, as equals, and their son returned to her from beyond the grave, no matter what laws of time they had to break. “How do I know you won’t just flake out on me…The Doctor lies, you say so yourself.”

Smiling despite himself, despite the situation, The Doctor met her piercing gaze head on, holding it, as his eyes pleaded with her to meet him half way, for once. “I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

\---/---


	17. Chapter 17

\---/---

Gritting her teeth, The Mistress did her best to rein in her murderous tendencies. 

The Doctor had tasked her with investigating Gallifrey’s once powerful planetary shield. It was a task suited to her, as her engineering skills far surpassed his own, and although there were other competent engineers on Gallifrey, they suffered from an endemic lack of imagination. Yet it seemed that where their engineers lacked innovation, other members of the High Council were more than capable of creativity, at least when it came to interpreting orders….

Orders that now had her surrounded by a squad of 10 armed guards, and more trying on her temper, a whole cadre of crumbly academics, that seemed to exist solely to argue with her.

Missy was certain she could see Brax’s hand in all of this. The little pest had waited years to extract every ounce of petty revenge for childhood slights, and The Mistress knew, that any step out of line, and he would have her locked up, or worse executed, before The Doctor could intervene. It would be just like him, to deliberately set out to wind her up; to surround her with people who would question, limit, and generally test her non-existent patience, until she snapped, and thusly snapped their necks.

It was simple, and clever, and used her weaknesses against her. It had every chance of success, only Brax had miscalculated one tiny thing…Missy hated letting anyone else win, she had once chosen to die rather than let The Doctor win, and she actually liked him…well most days she did.

The Mistress now had centuries of experience at setting up a long con. If she could last eighteen months, playing the part of a human politician, surrounded on a daily basis, with the most banal, and stupid of that smelly species, without accidentally murdering one of them, in a fit of irritation, and all of that, whilst being tortured by those damn drums. Well a few hours, with even the most traditional of her own people, was something she could manage. She could always think of a way, to take it out on The Doctor later, and least the Time Lords didn’t stink.

Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun with them.

They were taking a troop transport out to one of the old army outposts, where one of the shield generators had been located. Even getting out here had been a small victory. The Academy engineers had actually proposed, working exclusively from their guild house, and sending out students, or worse the army troopers, out to take the readings they needed.

The moment the ship touched down, Missy strode out onto the surface, her nose wrinkling slightly, as the dry desert sand that had been whipped up by the ships engineers, continued to whirl around, and sting her face. This area had once been lush, red grasslands, and now it was barren, and lifeless, the ugly domed army barracks jutted out of the stark landscape.

“Ma’am, you should wait for us to secure the area.” The trooper commander instructed, as his squad jogged up to take form around her, a cross between an honour guard, and a prisoner transfer…half the guns were trained out, and the other half, were trained back on her.

Snorting in amusement, Missy was wondering just who they were going to secure the area against, when the large doors at the front of the barracks opened, and out poured a handful of civilians…armed civilians.

“Well that wasn’t in any status report.” Missy muttered, under her breath, as she watched the army troopers, and the civilians size each other up.

The civilians were clearly out matched. Their equipment was mishmashed. Some was from the very beginning of the Time War, and Missy recalled, almost fondly, the unexpected way it would recoil, and sometimes even blow up, when it got overloaded. The army troopers had body armour, and the support of the guns of the troop ship, and yet they were still reluctant, to press that advantage.

Sentiment towards one’s own people that was something Missy had long grown out of. She supposed she could thank Rassilion for that. Knowing her own people, were responsible for a lifetime of suffering, did tend to damp down on any patriot sensibilities that might have lingered, in the very depths of her psyche. 

Rolling her eyes at the pointless delay, Missy strode forward, threading her way like water through the cracks in her guard, she strode purposefully towards the entrance. When she approached the civilian defenders, she didn’t even pause, like they expected, she barely deigned to acknowledge their presence, an amused smile playing about her lips, at their stunned expressions.

“Wait you can’t just…” One protested, and another dropped one hand from their weapon, to grab hold of The Mistress’s arm, just before she reached the doors.

Tilting her head, Missy’s gaze bore down at the dirty rough hand that was creasing her new black jacket…were those smudge marks?

Perhaps there was enough of a telepathic connection, to pick up on her ire, or perhaps it was the way, her soldier guard dithered pathetically, unsure if they were meant to be protecting her, or protecting the civilians from her, if this got violent. Whatever the reason, the fingers that had gripped her firmly, but not harshly, suddenly withdrew as if scolded.

“Smarter than you look.” Missy tittered pleasantly, as she gazed up into the face of the dirty, fat fingers owner. “I’m The Mistress…you may have heard of me?”

Judging by the look of shock, and a little fear, that suddenly darkened his gaze, Missy took that he had, and she preened a little at the knowledge.

“Did they send you here to kill us?”

“THEY, didn’t even mention YOU existed!” Missy sneered, rolling her eyes for emphasis, as she jerked her head in the direction, of the shuffling group of academics, who were all but cowering behind the soldiers.

Shaking his head, Mr Fat Finger’s top lip curled back, to show uneven discoloured teeth. “Why doesn’t that surprise me, they’ve done their best to forget we exist, until they want to steal our children for their damn conscription.” 

“Yeah well sucks to be you.” Missy replied breezily. She wasn’t The Doctor, she didn’t give a damn about anybody’s sob stories, it wasn’t like anyone gave her choice, as a child before they turned her into a bloody transceiver, or as an adult, when she was resurrected from the matrix, and forced to fight in a war.

“Now, are you going to get out of my way? I have a job to do, and this climate is doing nothing for my skin, and who knows how long it will take me, to shake the damn sand out of my hair!”

“Why are you here? We won’t let you take any of the children!”

“I don’t want your snivelling little brats.” Missy retorted, her nose wrinkling in disgust. She had no interest in any child, that wasn’t her own, and even then she intended for The Doctor, to do the actual heavy lifting, when it came to the child care. “I am here to look at the shield generator, and see what can be salvaged…unless of course, you’d rather stay unprotected?”

For a long moment Fat Fingers stared down at The Mistress, his brown eyes suspicious, yet as Missy met his gaze, with a resolute, and slightly bored expression, he seemed to wilt. Still had been an impressive effort, for anyone who wasn’t The Doctor. The Mistress’s gaze had always been piercing; this body being particularly blessed in the eye department, and Missy had immediately weaponised them. 

“We will escort you…just you!” Fat Fingers insisted, his gaze shifting to the awkwardly waiting soldiers. “They stay outside.”

“Fine by me.” Missy replied breezily. It wasn’t like she wanted the extra company, and if the foolish civilians, thought they would be able to hold her hostage, it would give Missy the excuse, to work off a little of her tension…The Doctor couldn’t rightly complain, if she was protecting herself, now could he?

“Mistress, we were ordered…” The Troop commander began, but Missy waved aside his concerns.

“I can look after myself, and unless you are prepared to start a bloodbath Commander, I suggest you comply.” Missy retorted with a sharp smile, this one showing plenty of teeth, like a grinning shark, just before he took a nice, large, bite. 

\---/---

“Psssst Clara…” 

Armand hung back in the shadows by the kitchens, he had tried all day to catch up with his friend, yet so far to no avail; she was certainly kept busy and Armand had no desire to make the situation worse for her. Still part of him felt irritated, for months he had thought of little but seeing Clara again, but it seemed that his oldest friend clearly didn’t feel the same. Either she had forgotten about him, the silly little boy she used to know, or worse she was going out of her way to avoid him.

Either way it seemed being ignored, was the one thing Armand just couldn’t tolerate.

“Armand…what…” Clara startled in surprise, as the gangly youth appeared out of nowhere, and she almost dropped the tray she was to carry up to Monsieur Henri’s study.

Grasping the edge of the tray, Armand then took Clara by the elbow, shuffling the protesting maid into a deserted corridor. “Have you been ignoring me?”

“What?” Clara couldn’t help but repeat, and yet there was something intense in her friend’s gaze that Clara found difficult to meet. “I am working Master Armand.” She added, barely managing to contain her irritation.

“Yes but…” Armand tried to object, yet his words died in his throat at the glare Clara shot him. “I missed you.”

She wanted to stay cross at him, in truth Clara felt angry more days than not, yet none of that was Master Armand’s fault. How could she remain indifferent to him, when Armand looked at her like that? Like she still mattered, for more than what money she could make. 

“I missed you too.” Clara replied, and it was true, she had, she had missed her friend; she missed the life she had once had, when the children were still young and she had been too. Right now Clara felt like a hundred years old.

At Clara’s confession a wave of relief flooded over Armand. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. “I know you are busy, but promise to meet me later, in the garden after dinner.”

“Armand I can’t.” Clara began her face flushing slightly and now she really couldn’t meet Armand’s gaze. “I have duties…”

“Please Clara; I will wait until you are free.” Armand pleaded, his hand tightening slightly on her arm. “I will wait all night if need be.” Armand added offsetting the pleading note in his voice with a smile that he hoped was more roguish, and less, well less wheedling. 

“Alright…I’ll try…I promise I’ll try.” Clara conceded, a smile blooming on her face when her agreement literally made Armand beam. “Now I really have to go.” She added her smiling falling as she realised just how long she had dallied, Monsieur would not be pleased.

“Later.” It was both a promise and a warning to her not to forget.

“Yes…if I can.” Clara reminded him, her time was not her own, and now she really was late. 

Pulling her arm free from Armand’s grasp, Clara could feel his gaze on her back as she hurried away, it warmed her until Clara turned the corner and she could no longer feel it. Then the chill returned, one that seemed to sink deep into her bones. As she approached Monsieur’s study Clara gathered her courage.

I will be brave

It was her mantra, and Clara hid her nerves behind a mask of confidence. Bringing forth a flirtatious smile that didn’t reach her eyes, Clara knocked on the study door, waiting for him to bid her enter. Henri’s voice echoed out and Clara lifted her chin to meet the dragon head on.

Just a little longer…I will be brave

\---/--- 

The Doctor couldn’t suppress the sensation of feeling trapped.

It had been a day and already he was feeling the urge to escape.   
Every step he took there was someone there, watching, following, offering to help. 

If it wouldn’t have increased the risk of being deposed, The Doctor might have already made a break for it. He knew where they kept the Tardis’s after all, even if he didn’t know where his Tardis currently was. He could probably demand to be told, he was the President, yet he wouldn’t have put it past Brax, to have moved her to the other side of the planet by now. 

It felt like having a limb cut off. For so long it had just been him and his Tardis. Now it was him, and entire council of officious senators, guards dogging his every step, a whole planet depending on him, and Missy…

Stomping into his private quarters, The Doctor paused inside the doorway. If he had thought it was bad in the council chamber, this room practically reeked of The Mistress. She had left the ripped Presidential robe draped over the end of the bed. The sheets had been straightened but not properly made up, and as attractive as a rest might be right now, The Doctor just couldn’t face the bed.

The Mistress had contaminated it, contaminated this whole room…dammit she had even left her used towels on the floor.

Growling about how he wasn’t her damn servant, The Doctor couldn’t help but march over, and pick up the still damp towels, reeling back when he got a nose full of conflicting scents…Gallifrayan star lilies and soap and her...

His fingers tightened on the fabric, as The Doctor fought this inexplicable urge, to bring the damn towels up to his face and… 

“Hi Honey I’m home.”

The Doctor couldn’t drop the damn towels fast enough, backpedalling as Missy all but skipped into the room.

“Aw did you miss me?” Missy teased, as The Doctor’s face turned such an interesting shade of red, it wasn’t a flattering look on him, made him look sunburnt.

“Every moment apart was a blessed relief actually.” The Doctor snarled back, eyes narrowing in irritation, as Missy’s smile actually grew.

“Fibber.” Missy snickered; her eyes dropping to the crumpled towels that weren’t were she left them. “Oh were you going to take a shower?”

“Is that a hint?”

“I would be lying if I said no, and that has always been your forte my dear Doctor; actually it was an invitation…” Missy added, her fingers going to the buttons of her black jacket.

The sand really had gotten into her hair, and Missy could still feel the prickle of dried sweat against her skin. “Such a fun little trip you sent me on, I had a blast!” She baited, eyebrows wiggling playfully.

“Missy if you hurt…”

“Oh ye of little faith.” Missy tutted, shrugging off her jacket and dropping it to the floor, before stalking her prey. “I didn’t blow anything or anyone up, I was the picture of restraint and good behaviour…Scouts honour.”

She had never been a scout, there was nothing akin to them on Gallifrey, yet The Doctor knew there was no point correcting Missy on this, nor was there in pointing out that honour was a foreign country as far as she was concerned…hell a foreign dimension would be more accurate.

“Well good.” The Doctor managed, swallowing nervously as Missy wound her way across the room towards him. Had it suddenly gotten warmer in here?

“Honestly, I thought Brax was going to burst something, when I brought all the scholars and soldiers back alive and intact. Poor boy looked so disappointed.”

“Yes well he can learn to live with it.” The Doctor insisted, taking another step back, and then another until his back collided with the wall. “So…ugh…what did you find, is the shield salvageable?”

Shrugging innocently, Missy started on her blouse cuffs. “It’s too earlier to tell really. The base had been taken over by Outsiders, they had cannibalised much of the systems, and most of the diagnostic equipment had been completely destroyed. I’ll have to go back tomorrow, taking my own equipment, in order to get a proper answer.”

“Outsiders?” The Doctor winced as his voice squeaked over the word.

“Yep.” Missy popped her answer, her gaze trailing over The Doctor, who actually seemed to be sweating for some reason.

Pressing a fingertip against The Doctor’s chest, Missy savoured stepping up into his personal space. “So Dear how was your day? Pesky politicians giving you grief?”

“I…ummm…fine…it was fine…” The words just wouldn’t come. The Doctor’s whole world had tightened down to the single fingertip digging into his chest.

“Reeeally…” Missy dragged out the word. “You look a little stressed to me.”

“No…fine…” The Doctor inwardly cringed at how unconvincing he sounded. “Boring really.”

Snorting Missy could only smirk. “Well that I believe.” She conceded, The Doctor was clearly lying, but when he didn’t want to share, Missy knew he would clam up and there would be no prising the truth loose.

Instead she settled for shifting off her sticky blouse, sighing in relief as the air conditioned air cooled her over heated skin. “Hmmm so good.”

“What are you doing?” The Doctor demanded, plastering himself back against the wall, The Doctor did his best to keep his gaze raised, and therefore avoid looking at the creamy skin suddenly exposed to him.

“Taking a shower, I’m all dirty and sticky.” Missy replied blankly, as though such a thing should have been obvious. He had been the one to send her out into the damn desert during the heat of the day. Just because The Doctor eschewed personal hygiene these days, didn’t mean she had to follow; Missy had standards.

Eyes closing as those words hit his already hyper aware brain The Doctor counted to ten before allowing himself to breathe out, slowly…even…ignoring the half-naked female in front of him…and the fact that her scent had never been stronger. “Then go take it.”

Shaking her head, Missy was torn between irritation and amusement. “I have every intention of doing so. Honestly Doctor take a chill pill. I was going to be nice and invite you to join me, Rassilion knows you look like you could use the stress relief, and it would certainly improve the smell.”

“No thank you.”

Rolling her eyes, Missy countered The Doctor’s petulance, by unfastening and dropping her skirt to the floor where she stood. Then turning on her heel, she strode over to her abandoned towels, bending over slowly, and provocatively, she glanced back over her shoulder, and stuck her tongue out at the stricken looking Doctor.

“Stew in your own stink then.”

The Doctor waited until the bathroom door had safely slid shut, before he peeled himself off the wall, his hands had left sweaty palm prints behind. 

That had been too close…only now, with a Mistress free room, did his brain begin to function once again, and when it did The Doctor’s gaze fell on the cast off clothing. This was his room…his…and she just left her rubbish lying about, like he was her servant, like it was his job to clean up after her.

Hands trembling with rage, The Doctor gathered the dirty clothing, his feet carrying him forward, before his brain could register a complaint. The bathroom door was slapped open, and The Doctor caught a bar or two of some alien opera over the sound of water. There was a glimpse of pale flesh but that was soon eclipsed by flying clothing.

“What in Omeg…” Missy screeched as her abandoned clothes were flung to join her in the shower, followed a moment later, by the towels she had left on the floor.

“Keep the damn room clean of your shit or move out!” The Doctor barked over his shoulder at her, for the first time that day a smile tugged at his lips. The look on Missy’s face…

Perhaps there was a way for him to stay sane here after all.

\---/---


	18. Chapter 18

\---/---

It was good to get out of the citadel. To breathe in the smell of Gallifrey and not the purified air that typified the capital.

Brax had protested most strongly about allowing The Doctor to go anywhere, let alone accompany The Mistress on her return trip to the shield generators. Then The Doctor had pointed out that in his absence someone would be needed to run things and who better than his own brother? Suddenly the objections no longer seemed so pressing and despite achieving his objective, The Doctor couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Brotherly concerns had their limits, unlike personal ambition.

Still it seemed the guards assigned to “protect him” were determined to do that job, a little too thoroughly for The Doctor’s taste, and he had been relieved when half their number had no choice but to follow Missy down into the engine room. He might join them later, but for now the opportunity to smell the flowers was too great to pass up and The Doctor made his way to the old barracks instead.

The buzz of so many Gallifreyan minds filled his senses and The Doctor closed his eyes, savouring the sensation. He was home again, something he both loved and loathed. This far out from the capital the feeling was different. In the citadel all minds were carefully trained, thoughts carefully protected, minds barely like a whisper against his own. A well behaved Time Lord kept his thoughts and his feelings under strict control at all times; a proper Time Lord should be able to pass practically undetected by his own kind.

Well The Doctor had long given up any desire to be a “proper” Time Lord.

He had always been more comfortable amongst The Outsiders. Although it seemed the feeling was no longer mutual. The Doctor could feel the unease…even fear…simmering in the minds of the people and his hearts gave a lurch at the thought that they might be afraid of him!

Eyes falling closed The Doctor sighed, resisting the urge to run his hands over his face, that would make him look weak, and The Doctor couldn’t afford to look anything less than in control. Yet it was with the distractions of the light blocked out, and his own mind open and seeking that The Doctor caught the shift.

A change in the breeze, a spike of youthful anger, the clenching in his gut…

The Doctor dove sharply to the right, just missing the blast of laser that singed the tail of his coat.

He landed heavily in the red dirt, a dust cloud billowing up, The Doctor choking slightly as the gritty particles shot up his nose.

His guard reacted quickly, some falling back into defensive positions, others risking cross fire to literally throw themselves in front of him as a living shield. The Doctor found himself dragged up and bundled against the bunker wall, as his bodyguards prepared to return fire.

“No…STOP…!” The Doctor thought his command had fallen on death ears and so he pushed himself forward, his bodyguards trying to stop him, yet it was hard to hold on to a stubborn Time Lord and your weapon.

“Sir please…”

“ALL DROP YOUR WEAPONS!” The Doctor all but bellowed.

This was not what he came back to Gallifrey for, to fight against his own people, and The Doctor knew if he didn’t find a way to stop this now then it would descend into a full on blood bath.

“Alright I’m here. You want my life?” The Doctor stepped out from the protection of his guards his hands raised in surrender.

He could feel their anger…it was unsure…and brittle…fear tinged…young…so young and not a battle hardened warrior. If they really wanted him dead then The Doctor would have been by now.

“I’m unarmed. Go ahead. No one is going to stop you.” The Doctor insisted, spinning around so all of his audience could see him.

Several armed men had come running at the first sound of gunfire, they were ready for a fight, and only stopped when they caught sight of the army laying down their weapons, and The Doctor standing unarmed out in the open.

“I know you are angry. You have every right to be. You had to fight in a war that you had no hand in causing. You had to watch loved ones die in front of you. I know how that feels, I was there, I fought, I didn’t want to fight but I did because there was no other choice. It was fight or die. Yet no one has to fight any more. We have to stop, to put the guns down, otherwise our loved ones will keep on dying.”

Turning back to the hidden sniper The Doctor could feel them wavering.

“I am The Doctor, I am here to help, please let me help you!” The Doctor pleaded, his voice breaking slightly, his hearts in his throat as he waited…for either a shot to end this regeneration or for something to break this stalemate.

The gun fell from the sky, it landed in the sand with an anticlimactic thump, and The Doctor felt his tensed muscles relax slightly.

It was followed a few moments later by a lithe shape, that landed with a little more grace, and The Doctor’s hearts broke a little more…it was a boy…little more than child, barely big enough to hold the weapon that had shot at him.

“Arton what mess have you created now!” One of the older armed men called out to the youth, who seemed to curl more inward, head bowed.

Approaching the child The Doctor reached out for his shoulder, not surprised when the boy flinched, yet Arton girded his courage and held his ground, lifting his head to glare up at The Doctor.

“I am not going, you can’t make me.”

Sighing The Doctor realised his mistake, when his pitying expression caused Arton to stiffen and pull away. Yet it was hard to remain unmoved.

“I am going to take you away from your family Arton; I really am here to help.” The Doctor tried to reassure him.

Yet it seemed his audience remained sceptical, pulling away and running back towards the entrance to the bunker complex. The Doctor’s bodyguards made a half-hearted attempt to follow him, many of them probably sympathised with the boy’s plight. Who knew how many of them had once been outsider children, removed from their families and brainwashed during their induction training.

“No let him go.”

This command they obeyed without hesitation and The Doctor dusted off his velvet coat before approaching the abandoned weapon. Picking it up gingerly, The Doctor felt the tension rise from the watching soldiers, yet he held it loosely by his side, the very exercise of touching it made his skin itch unpleasantly.

Approaching the armed Outsiders, The Doctor surprised the one man who had spoken, by pressing the boy’s abandoned gun into his chest. Then unarmed he walked alone into the complex. It would seem he had some “Presidenting” to do, and for once The Doctor almost relished the opportunity his lofty position afforded.

\---/--

It wasn’t working.

Feeling the eyes of her “vaunted” entourage burning into her back, The Mistress made a conscious effort not to react, not to show her audience her growing frustration.

It should be working.

She had savoured the anticipation of victory, of being able to turn around and rub her seniority in the faces of the oh so noble and proper Time Lords from the various academies and guild houses. The ones who had been muttering, not so subtly about her methods, mutterings that were growing in volume and spite, the longer it took for Missy’s miraculous engineering solution to deliver.

Scowling down at her scanner, Missy’s glare then transferred to the power display in front of her. One of these was lying to her and Missy had a suspicion that with her luck, it wasn’t just a faulty scanner. She was going to have to go down into the shafts. Into the dark…

If it wasn’t for the thought that one of her “helpers” might deliberate sabotage her efforts Missy would have delegated the unpleasant task to one of them.

Shivering at thought of the dark enclosed space, The Mistress did her best to plaster a confident smirk on her face. She had a reputation to uphold and it wouldn’t do to let her enemies know of any weaknesses.

“There seems to be a problem with the power outage coupling!” Missy insisted, ignoring the smug looks, then gritting her teeth she started down the shaft ladder.

One of her guards made to follow her but Missy glare caused them to pause.

“For goodness sake there is only one way in and out and there will barely room down there to swing a cat!” Missy hissed in exasperation. Did they honestly think she was going to make some grand escape through sewage tunnels or the like? She had standards!

Thankfully alone Missy was able to begin her descent.

The emergency lighting was barely functioning, flickering and pale, it barely highlighted her way and the rungs were coated in grime. Pausing Missy tucked the scanner into her jacket so she could use both her hands on the ladder. The last thing she needed now was to slip and hurt herself. It wasn’t like she had regenerations to spare these days, and she doubted even The Doctor would be able to persuade the High Council to gift her another set; although it was something worth considering if she needed a new bargaining chip.

At least when she was thinking about how she could emotionally blackmail The Doctor Missy wasn’t thinking about this damn dark tunnel, or the way the walls seemed to close in on her….against her sides, over her head, like being smothered…or…drowned…

Down, down into the dark and terrible deep.

Holding a breath Missy forced herself to calm down. This wasn’t Skaro. It wasn’t the dark pit like cell that Davros had kept her in. Nor was she back in that river, Torvic’s hands holding her down under the water. Yes she was on Gallifrey, and whilst she wasn’t exactly safe even here, she wasn’t going to be tortured. At least not whilst she could still be of some use; their people were ruthlessly practical in that way.

The steady beeping of the scanner suddenly picked up and Missy allowed herself a small sigh of relief, stepping off the ladder onto the nearest service tunnels. The power was still flowing properly till this junction but then for some reason it was blocked from going any further. A puzzle was as a good a distraction from her own morbid thoughts, even if this particular puzzle involved getting her hands dirty.

Walking along the tunnel Missy held the scanner up, her hand out reached as she pressed it against the tunnel’s wall, along here somewhere should be an access panel. Her lip curling in disgust as the accumulated damp and grime coated her fingers. When she got back Missy would insist on spending at least an hour soaking in order to get the stain of the oil out of her skin. Perhaps she would insist on The Doctor scrubbing her back.

The flash of The Doctor’s awkward embarrassed face across her thoughts caused Missy to pause and snicker. This regeneration was honestly clueless and ever since they had returned to Gallifrey he had been acting even stranger than normal, which for him was already several deviations from the mean. She would have to think of some new way to torment him.

Missy later blamed The Doctor for distracting her.

She should have sensed them, should have realised there was someone else there before the nozzle of a rifle was pressing against the back of her neck. Against her brainstem. Instant shut down, no chance of regeneration. She had been such a fool to let her guard down, to think that The Doctor’s protection actually meant she would be safe. Let her think that she wasn’t still as isolated and vulnerable as always.

“Your positioning is good but if you are going to shoot me I suggest you get on with it.” Missy drawled, her ears catching the slight intake of her assailants breath.

Rookie mistake, so perhaps they weren’t as proficient as she had first believed.

“Well go on I haven’t got all day.” Missy goaded them.

The slightly tremor as the gun was pressed deeper into her skin. It was a good job her hair line covered it, as that would leave a mark.

Tutting Missy raised her scanner back up, using the light to highlight the display.

“Tick tock pet I’m on a schedule.”

“You don’t get to speak.” Her assailant finally spoke, the voice clearly female. “Just nod once if you understand what I am saying.”

Rolling her eyes Missy weighed up her odds. It was a confined space, she was unarmed, yet they hadn’t murdered her outright meant they needed her for something. Still part of her resented doing what she was told.

“How many times should I nod if I don’t understand?” Missy countered.

“I told you not to speak…”

“Yes and your instructions were incomplete.” Missy cut them off, her fingers moving over the scanner’s surface as an idea came to mind, if she could just keep them distracted. “Honestly is this the first time you’ve done this? It’s nod once for yes, and nod twice for no, alright?”

“Just…” A sigh of pure frustration followed. “Fine nod once for yes, twice for no, and no more talking!”

“Honestly I was just trying to…” Missy muttered, the clicking off of the safety stopping her for a moment, well now things had gotten interesting.

“You have access to the Citadel right?” The impatient gunman demanded.

Dutifully Missy nodded once.

“You know how to get into the Cloisters?”

Again Missy nodded once. Honestly this was so dull, like having to converse with Brax.

“You can get to a Tardis.”

Ah now it was getting interesting, Missy’s pause earned her another but from the rifle nozzle, again she nodded once, albeit deliberately slowly. In theory she could, in practice it might be a little tricky.

“You will steal a Tardis for us.”

Resisting the urge to snigger Missy had no computation before nodding twice.

For a moment it was if her assailant was stunned to silence, had they honestly been expecting Missy to just simply cooperate? Didn’t they realise who they were dealing with? It was practically insulting.

“You will steal us a Tardis or die!”

“Oh please why should I? What’s in it for me, my life?” Missy scoffed no longer caring to prolong this, she was bored now, and a bored Missy was a dangerous thing. Closing her eyes, a smirk played about Missy’s lips as she added deliberately taunting. “No deal, my life isn’t yours to give; besides what you ask of me would put not just my life in danger, I steal you a Tardis and the Chancellor guard will kill. I’m dead either way.”

“Well that’s too bad…”

The flash from the scanner exploding temporarily blinded her assailant and Missy span around, her hands knocking the rifle off target, the laser firing off harmlessly into the ceiling, hissing and spitting as it hit the emergency lighting, plunging their section of the access tunnel into near darkness. Taking full use of her advantage Missy followed up her initial attack with a short sharp upstroke, the crack of her assailant’s nose confirmed her aim.

Yet they were tougher than they looked, and Missy was surprised by the returning head butt. With a broken nose that must have really hurt, yet unless they dropped the gun her opponent was hopelessly outmatched. Missy was able land several kicks and punches before they realised this, unable to control or aim the rifle with Missy this close, unable to step back due to the confined space. Yet to merely drop the weapon might mean Missy getting it.

A moment later the gun was hurtling towards the downward shaft. Then the fight was on in earnest. Surprised by the aggressive turn Missy actually took a few blows, her opponent managed to bash her hard against the tunnel wall and her forehead connected with the edge of the display…wet…blood trickled down and Missy had to blink it away before it ended up in her eyes.

The Mistress had never been much of a scrapper, but a well-honed survival instinct, and a willingness to do things most civilised creatures would hesitate from, usually gave her an edge. Yet her opponent was younger and also possessed Time Lord strength, if this kept up much longer…Time to play dirty then.

The girl actually yelped when Missy’s teeth dug into her neck. A yelp that turned to a whine, like a mere pup, as those teeth dug down and drew blood, blows at first frantic but then as Missy dug deeper suddenly faltered. The threat was clear submit or Missy would rip a chunk out.

Forcing the other female to the floor before retracting her teeth, Missy spat out the blood that had pooled in her mouth, twisting the girl’s arm painfully and fall stalling any attempt to escape.

“Hmm now how do you want to die?” Missy hissed in her ear, smearing blood and saliva against her cheek and enjoying the way her victim squirmed. “I could just break your arms and legs and drop you down that shaft, let you slowly to starve to death?”

“Do what you like you fucking freak.” The girl trembled, still defiant despite all, Missy had to admire her spunk.

“I’m not afraid to die…”

“Oh now whose a little fibber?” Missy cooed, as despite her bravado the girl was shaking.

“They won’t stop until I am avenged.”

“Oh so there is a we? Someone pulling your strings.” Missy teased before pushing her shaking victim into the dirt. “You know if you would cooperate little mouse I might only break one of your arms before throwing you down? Tell me who is this we?”

“I’m not…I’m not afraid.”

“I am not sure who you are trying to convince here pet.” Missy sighed wearily, she was bored now.

She could kill the girl but then The Doctor would probably find out and Brax would insist on her being executed after all. Dead bodies had such an unfortunate habit of not staying hidden and it wasn’t as though she had her vaporiser. Plus Missy was curious to know if there really was another hidden faction at play and not just an opportunist Outsider looking to press an advantage.

Decision made Missy suddenly released her grip on the girl, stepping back nonchalantly as the little pest scrabbled to her feet and pushed past Missy to run into the welcome dark.

“Go on run off little mouse back to your hole, and don’t come back until you have a better offer for me.”

Waiting until the girl had scurried off Missy sagged, cursing as she wrapped an arm around her middle and held her bruised ribs. She had held her own, but her age must be catching up to her, as that fight had taken more out of her than it should have. Turns Missy managed to find her dropped scanner, the screen was cracked and it barely emitted a dull light but it was better than nothing.

Holding it in front like a makeshift touch Missy began to retrace her steps towards the ladder, doubling back when the light reflected back on something that shouldn’t be there and that wasn’t there before…her attacker must have dropped it.

It was probably nothing and yet the magpie in Missy couldn’t resist it. Hissing as her bruised ribs jarred as Missy bet down. A pendant…no a locket which from the touch had some distinctive design raised on it. Missy pocketed it and wincing began her climb back up the shaft.

\---/---

Missy had been hurt; The Doctor was shocked how deeply that upset him.

He was just making progress with the Outsiders when he had been summoned back to the army transport where Missy was all but ignoring the guards questioning, insisting she had merely lost her footing in the tunnels, nothing more sinister than that.

“Honestly you are all such conspiracy theorists.” Missy insisted with a dramatic roll of the eyes, well as dramatic as she could be with a pad pressed to her forehead to stem the bleeding.

The guards were clearly struggling to buy the explanation and as for The Doctor, he knew she was lying, yet he didn’t call her out on it. Not now, not here, not with other people listening in.

Missy and he had both used to claim they had fell whenever Torvic had bullied them, they knew it would only make things worse for them and not their bully if they reported it. If Missy was choosing not to disclose she had been attacked, then the doctor had to trust she had a good reason.

Still that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be taking extra precautions from now on.

“Well next time I insist you take someone with you, just so you don’t have anymore ‘accidents’.” The Doctor’s sarcasm was so evident and could practically be peeled off.

Still The Doctor was relieved when they were finally left alone with only a hovering medic who The Doctor was quickly able to usher aside. Furrowed eyebrows set to burn setting; he all but snatched the surgical knitter off of them. Running it over the cut on Missy’s forehead, his gaze running over her for other injuries.

“Stop fussing Doctor I’m fine.”

Biting down the retort that he would be the judge of that, The Doctor instead took her chin and tilted her head. There the cut was closed, it wouldn’t even scar. Reaching into his pocket, The Doctor quickly found a packet of garishly printed children’s wipes, which he used to gently clean off the dried blood from her face.

“I don’t need a minder either.” Missy added, her resolution wavering when The Doctor frowned and yet still remained silent, his silent chastisement and gentle care weighed heavier than any words, and for a moment Missy almost felt guilty…well for about a millisecond.

“I know what I am doing…I’m not a china doll Doctor, don’t let this pretty form fool you, I am just as indestructible as ever.”

Sighing The Doctor added some salve to help ease the bruising and promote healing. Then giving into the impulse, he leant down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Missy stared up at him in stunned silence, blue eyes softened, only then did he speak, softly yet firmly.

“I know you can. I always trust that you can survive but I don’t like seeing you hurt. You are important to me Mistress…Now come on, we’ve been invited to join the people here for lunch, and I’d rather not have another diplomatic incident today.”

Swallowing down the sudden swell of ‘feelings’, Missy wasn’t sure how she should react, so unusually for her she followed him without a quip, or a complaint…The Doctor was changing the rules again and suddenly The Mistress wasn’t sure of her part of the script any more.

\---/---


End file.
